


Off Souls

by Olivinesea



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Gen, Rape, Underage Drinking, a lot of drinking, brief but it does happen, but they need each other, emily and hotch exist to mess with each other, emily is a party girl, hotch is serious as ever, it gets darker before it gets brighter, neither one understands how to communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 17:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivinesea/pseuds/Olivinesea
Summary: They are opposites yet somehow Emily and Hotch are each other's only friend in college. They're getting along like a house on fire until Emily makes a mistake, followed by Hotch making a mistake, followed by a whole lot of suffering. Throw a little Mr. Hotchner in there for good measure and enjoy.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A warning for a non-explicit rape scene in this chapter. Mentions of it throughout the rest of the work.

Emily Prentiss had her first drink was when she was eight years old. Someone handed her a half-glass of champagne as the clock counted down to midnight and a new year arrived. She wasn’t sure she liked the sharp, sour flavor but the bubbles tickled her nose. She also liked holding the pretty glass delicately between her thumb and middle finger, imitating the guests in their bright, shiny fabrics. No one noticed as she crept around the party, seeking out abandoned champagne flutes. She picked each one up, practicing a fake laugh and gesturing to invisible companions. Each imaginary conversation ended with her tilting her head back and draining the glass. 

She noticed that the champagne was getting flatter but also that the taste was improving as she worked through the rooms of the ambassador’s residence. She was too young for anyone to pay attention to, the adults were wrapped up in their own affairs and feelings of excitement. Her body grew heavier and she thought she might like to sit down for awhile. She didn't know what time it was or whether it was the new year yet. She climbed onto a bench pushed against the wall. It had become a home for abandoned coats and bags. 

It was hard to understand what she was seeing, objects seemed to be trying to escape. She looked at something only for it to slide away. She refocused, telling herself tables didn’t move on their own, only to have the thing slip away again. She tried closing one eye, then the other. The ground seemed to tip which didn’t make sense but maybe explained the moving furniture. She sank down onto one side, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth. Maybe being sideways would help correct the tilt of the world. It didn’t change much and she let her eyes close completely. Even with her eyes closed, the world continued to spin unpleasantly. She whimpered, weakly calling for her mother, already faintly aware that she wouldn’t appear. 

Her face felt hot and she worried she might roll off the bench. Too tired to go far, she got down and pressed herself into the space underneath. Closed off from the world in most directions, she felt a little steadier. She tucked her face into the bend of her elbow to block out the remaining light. Her free hand found its way to her mouth again. She was too old to suck her thumb but it was still comforting to feel the pressure there. She found herself biting the skin around her nail beds. The acute sensation tethered her to the earth and the disturbing spinning slowed. She didn’t notice when she fell asleep. 

No one found her there and it was light outside when she finally woke up. Cold and stiff from sleeping on the floorboards, she slowly slid out from under the bench. Moving carefully towards her room she tried to listen for sounds of other people in the hallways. She was afraid her mother would scold her for ruining her dress. She needn’t have worried. She threw the dress, now ripped and stained, into the trash in an effort to hide it. No one noticed that either.

* 

By the time she entered high school, she considered herself an expert at drinking. She knew which alcohols were the easiest to mix. She knew which bottles would be noticed if they went missing (only the wines). She could forge her mother’s signature to get out of class when the afternoon looked a little too long. She could even mimic the housekeeper’s accent when the school called to confirm that she was out on an excused absence. In a fit of inspiration, she had substituted her number for her mother’s on all her school forms. That move had paid dividends over the years. 

Every weekend she either had a party or went to a party. She didn’t see that as a problem. Drinking socially was fine. Maybe a little questionable at 15, but fine. The drinking that she secretly knew was wrong but continued anyway was the kind where she added gin to bottles of sparkling water and drank it throughout the day. It stung the back of her throat but she came to associate that feeling with a pleasant detachment. She could ignore her mother’s criticisms with the buzz of gin in her ears. She could ignore how lonely she felt when wrapped up in the warmth of the friendly bubbles.

She went through high school becoming more and more attached to alcohol. There were other things to try, different drugs filtered through the prep school community. She didn’t mind them but she always returned to drinking. Drinking was familiar. Drinking made her comfortable. She didn’t see any reason to mess with a good thing. She never noticed how her mood swung in tandem with her access to alcohol. She never noticed how she drank more after fighting with her mother. For her, drinking and feelings were separate. Feelings were messy and embarrassing. Drinking conquered feelings and she wanted nothing more than to conquer those permanently.

*

By the time she met Aaron Hotchner, she couldn't remember the last time she went more than a few days without a drink. Sobriety was a state to escape from. Sobriety meant clear thoughts and clear thoughts meant the harsh, criticizing voice in her mind reminding her of all her failures. Better to drown than to listen to that. Her grades might have been slipping but she’d have to feel to care and she was in the business of not feeling. Meeting someone else so deeply committed to avoiding their feelings was a gift from the universe.

She liked that he was smart and she liked how his face looked when he was surprised. She liked it when he frowned at her because even displeased she could tell that he enjoyed spending time with her. She couldn’t name a single other person who genuinely enjoyed her company. She had never had any close friends. People she partied with, certainly. It was easy to be popular with a rich, absent mother and no curfew. But none of those people had cared about her as a person, nor had she cared about them. They were all just using each other to satisfy their own needs.

He was different. He asked her questions and listened to her answers. Sometimes he was incredulous at her responses and sometimes she embellished her stories just to watch him get worked up at the idea of taking the embassy jet to Norway for her 13th birthday (she flew commercial) or hiring a full-time zookeeper for her spotted genets (she had to pay the housekeeper’s nephew to feed her cat when they went out of town).

When he first suggested that she might want to drink less she laughed at him and finished the bottle of wine she had been drinking from. When she turned up hungover to class the next morning he didn't say anything but she was annoyed with him as if he did. He didn't tell her she was wrong for drinking but he gave her tired looks when she talked about Margarita Monday or Thirsty Thursday. He never accepted the drinks she offered him. Just shook his head and when she pressed him about it he told her alcohol made him sleepy.

He only got angry about her drinking one time. She had convinced him to come over after a party. Her roommate was out of town for the weekend and she didn’t feel like being alone yet. While she was waiting for him she found some leftover booze and mixed it with whatever pink juice was living in their mini fridge. When he got there she kept trying to push the cup up to his mouth. He brushed her off and she ended up dropping it and spilling it on the both of them. 

“Now look what you did, idiot!” She reached up to jab him playfully in the forehead. He moved fast, grabbing her wrist and holding it to the side. Reflexively she tried to swat at him with her other hand but he grabbed that easily as well. 

“Stop it.” 

His voice was low and dangerous. Her vision swam as she tried to focus on him. His dark eyes burned and she felt like maybe she shouldn’t be standing so close. She backed up and had to tug a little before he released her. They stared at each other. He tried to regain control of his temper, fingers curled tightly into his palms. He shouldn’t have grabbed her but touching his face like that was a step past what he could tolerate. She was always loose with her contact, even more so when she was drinking. She didn’t know how it put him on edge because he would never tell her, would never admit to that weakness. She might have noticed on her own but it never crossed her mind that it was a problem. She just thought he was a bit stiff and needed some affectionate rough housing from time to time. Still angry, he bit back the cruel words he knew would damage their friendship. Words they both had heard directed at them before: reckless, immature, hopeless. She was watching carefully as he struggled with himself. She’d never felt unsafe with him but this moment had made her very aware their relative sizes. She waited for him to say something else.

He sighed. “Where are your paper towels?”

She had completely forgotten about the spill. She shook her head, thoroughly sobered. “I’ll clean it up.”

Normally he would argue with her, insist on helping, but the sickly sweet smell of whatever horrid drink she’d mixed was making him nauseous. He decided the best move was to call it a night and muttered that he’d see her tomorrow as he stepped around the mess and out the door. 

*

Like most people, she was clumsy when she drank. Unlike most people, she seemed to take a sick pride in the bumps and bruises she acquired while stumbling around. It had always fascinated her to watch how her body was able to heal itself. To watch bruises darken and then fade. To study scabs as they formed over scraped knees and the shiny, pink skin that developed underneath. She got an even bigger kick out of it when she discovered Hotch’s tight-lipped disapproval of this behavior. Sometimes she would send him photo updates of particularly gruesome wounds. 

“Emily!” he shouted indignantly after her latest upload, a burn from the hot plate courtesy of late-night grilled cheese. 

“Shhh! We’re in the library!” 

“We’re in a study room! You should be studying!”

“I am,” she said, innocently.

“You know what I mean. Please, please, for the love of god, stop sending me pictures of scabs.”

“Well, I guess if you don’t care about me…”

He threw his hands in the air and kicked back from the table. “I’m getting coffee.” She looked up at him hopefully. “No, I won’t get you any.”

She pouted but when he returned he was carrying two cups as well as some Neosporin and bandaids. She reached for the cup but he pulled it back.

“You have to let me deal with that first.” He nodded at her arm. 

She looked at the bandaids distastefully. 

“I don’t want to have to look at that shit anymore today,” he said firmly.

“Fine,” she muttered, watching as he set her coffee just out of reach. She was a cooperative patient and he worked quickly.

“What the hell? Why did you put like six bandaids on me?”

“Because you’re just going to peel them off and I want to have at least a few hours without having to be exposed to your organs,” he said cheerfully as he pushed her coffee towards her and swept up the paper litter.

She smiled as she sipped her coffee and waited until they left the library before removing the offending bandages. 

*

They had been going back and forth about her drinking for several months. She had promised to stop drinking on weekdays if he would come out with her occasionally. She was able to keep her promise for the most part. She believed there were exceptions to everything and was sure to find at least a few instances where she justified a drink or two. He would get annoyed but not angry because he knew she was trying. That wasn’t what caused the problem.

It happened partway through the winter quarter. They had just turned in important papers for their history class. Hotch wanted to start studying for the econ midterm coming up but Emily, already in a bad mood, wanted to be done for the day. 

“Please, can you just chill for once in your life?” she begged, leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling. She was draped across one of the lounge chairs, legs up on one side, arms thrown over her head.

He shook his head. “This is important to me.”

“Oh, and it’s not important to me?” she bit back. She shifted so she was sitting up, feet on the floor, glaring at him.

“Sorry Em, I didn’t mean it like that.” He frowned, not sure why she was having such a big reaction.

“I just can’t with you, Hotchner. I can’t fucking win.”

“What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering she got up and left the room. They had been sitting in the common room of his dorm. It was generally quiet at that time of day since most of his neighbors were athletes and had practice in the afternoons.

He waited for her to come back. He was learning that was something people did. He still didn’t fully understand it but apparently some people were able to get mad and then get over it without any major consequences. When she didn’t reappear, he shrugged and opened his laptop to start working.

She stalked angrily down the hallway, heading for her room. Halfway there she realized she forgot her bag but didn’t turn around. She wasn’t ready to see Hotch yet with his stupid apologetic face and his stupid understanding eyes. Why had she let him convince her to try? In the fall she had been checked out and could blame her abysmal grades on that lack of effort. Now she was going to get her grades back and see that she was in fact not as smart as she thought. Everyone would see it. Hotch would see it. 

She had always gotten good grades growing up. Partly because she was intelligent but partly because high school wasn’t that demanding intellectually. She could skate by on a minimal amount of effort and charm her way into enough extra credit to keep her grades high. She’d only cared about grades in that she didn’t want her mother looking too closely at her school reports. A’s kept her free to misbehave as she pleased. College was turning out to be different. 

It felt bad to put significant effort into something only to get lukewarm results. It felt like she was confirming her deepest fear—she really wasn’t exceptional at anything. She was so afraid and she hated it. And Emily had exactly one coping mechanism for fear—drown it. She’d left her phone in her bag too but she didn’t need that to find a party. She knew exactly where she could go for free alcohol and loud music and strangers she didn’t have to worry would find out how stupid and worthless she really was. She went to her room to change.

A couple hours later she walked up to a frat house, hair freshly washed and straightened, dark make up matching her black bodysuit. There were people spilled all over the lawn. Several tables of beer pong were set up. A kiddie pool filled with melting ice and piles of canned beer occupied the walkway. She smiled. She could always count on people to be drinking at a frat house. She saw a guy she met in the fall at one of the tables and headed in that direction. When he saw her it was obvious he didn’t recognize her but he smiled anyway. It was easy to make friends at a frat house when you looked like Emily Prentiss. She accepted the offered ping pong ball and easily made her first shot. Someone handed her a beer. As she sipped it she finally felt like she wasn’t fighting with herself. This was familiar territory. This was where she belonged.

The afternoon quickly became evening and the party moved inside. The music was loud and insistent. She felt lightheaded—she hadn’t eaten since that morning which was probably a mistake. But she was already mostly drunk and the thought floated away quickly. She took the red plastic cup being passed to her without asking what was in it. It was sweet and orange and much tastier than the beer she’d been drinking. The guy from before, she thought his name was Steven, was leading her towards the courtyard dance floor. He guided her with a hand on her back, bare skin exposed by the low-cut. She loved dancing and didn't notice anything unusual when her head started to swim. That was the feeling she had been looking for wasn’t it?

Things started to get patchy. She thought time had passed but she wasn’t sure how much. She was being led up a staircase but she wasn’t sure if the hand she was holding was Steven’s or someone different. She thought his hair had been brown but maybe it was just dark blonde. It didn’t feel particularly urgent to find out. 

She was being pressed against a doorway, hands on her waist, a mouth covering her mouth. It was a kiss. She liked kissing so she kissed back. She tried to open her eyes to see who it was she was kissing but it was dark and her eyes wouldn’t focus. Suddenly there was nothing solid behind her and she fell backwards.

“Woah there!” A hand caught her arm at the last moment and pulled her to a wobbling upright position. “Careful.”

She didn't recognize the voice though it felt a little familiar. She didn’t like this room they were in. It was too dark. She could barely hear the music. She tried to push past the voice, speaking but not hearing anything coherent.

“Hang on, not so fast.” The voice was between her and the door and was very solid. The little light that had illuminated the room disappeared when he shut the door. Why did he shut the door?

“letmego.” It came out as all one word but she was happy with it. She was sure he would understand what she wanted. Instead she heard a laugh. It’s not a nice laugh like when Hotch was listening to her spinning tall tales and laughingly told her she was ridiculous. She wondered where Hotch was. He was her favorite person, why wasn’t he here with her now? 

The person moved closer and she knew he was laughing at her. Fear burned through her and she screamed at her body to react. But everything felt slow and sticky. She swung at him but missed. She tried again and he caught her arms. She twisted violently, panic stealing her breath. Roughly, he pushed her backwards and she stumbled only to land on something soft. It was a mattress and it smelled. It smelled like beer and cigarettes and vomit. She kicked at him but it did nothing to stop his advance.

“Shhh. Just be good now.”

She cried. She couldn’t help it. She was so confused about how she got here, about where here even was. She tried to fight back but her thoughts were muddy and everything felt so heavy. 

“nononostop,” she screamed but she could barely hear herself. 

It was over quickly. Or maybe not quickly. Her sense of time shrank and expanded with each breath. All she knew was at some point she found herself alone. The door hadn’t closed all the way so she could see a little light coming in. She stared at it from her place on the bed, blinking slowly, trying to gather enough thought-power to figure out the next step. Something was wrong, she knew it. This wasn’t her bed or even her dorm building. She needed to find Hotch. He could fix everything. She didn’t think she was injured but it was so hard to move. She rolled to her side and ended up falling off the bed completely. She wasted several moments trying to catch her breath. The impact helped shake off some of the heaviness in her mind and she was able to push herself up off the ground. She found that she was only half dressed and, while she wasn’t completely sure why that was, a sob escaped her as she pulled the straps back up. She lost a shoe and it was too dark and complicated to find it so she kicked the other one off instead. She stumbled to the doorway and leaned against it briefly, making one last effort to collect herself before heading out into the world. This walk wasn’t going to be easy. 

In a frat house full of drunk people, one drunk and disheveled girl wasn’t noteworthy. She wasn’t even the only person shoeless at that point. No one stopped to ask her if she was ok. No one questioned when she walked out into the night alone and clearly unwell. She focused all her energy on making it back to the dorm and to Hotch. The walk was about half a mile back through the city streets immediately surrounding campus. She tripped and fell more than once, skinning her palms and ripping holse in her pants. Only one person asked if she needed help, concerned by her lack of footwear. She waved them off, slurring that she was going home. The good Samaritan shrugged and headed off in the opposite direction. If a person insisted on helping every drunk college kid who thought they could handle themselves better than they could, they’d never make it home.

She did make it back and thanked whoever might be listening that her keycard was still in her pocket. She hadn’t considered it until the very moment she needed it. She got into the elevator with only one destination in mind. She had no idea what time it was or if he was mad at her and that was why she was alone but she is going to find Aaron Hotchner and let him deal with whatever this mess was she had made.

She knocked and knocked again when he didn’t answer. 

“Hotch!” Her voice was hoarse and not very loud. She raised her hand to bang on the door again when it opened. He stood in the doorway, hair sticking up from sleep, blinking at her. He looked irritated and she wasn’t sure what she did wrong but she’s willing to atone for it. She held up her hands, trying to sort out her words. 

“Hotch, I—“ 

“Go to bed, Emily.” He sounded tired more than anything else. He had answered this late night knock many times and tonight he didn’t want to play along. He didn’t want to deal with her drunk affections, he didn’t want to make her the snack she insisted she deserved, he didn’t want to make sure to switch out her pilfered beers with waters for the next couple hours. He just wanted to sleep and deal with this disappointment tomorrow. He turned away and she started to follow him but he just grabbed her backpack from his desk chair. He pushed it into her arms, propelling her back through the door. 

“Go to bed,” he repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that he closed the door, quietly but firmly. She knew he wouldn’t answer if she knocked again. She hugged her bag to her chest. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But if Hotch wouldn’t help her, it must have been her fault. She stumbled down the hall to her room. She didn’t want to lay down in the dark. Just the thought of doing that made her heart race. She felt dirty so she went to the bathroom to take a shower. After she turned on the water she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t blame Hotch for sending her away. She was a mess. She wouldn’t want to deal with her either. 

She was far too tired to take her clothes off. The adrenaline that got her home had faded and everything was beginning to hurt. She climbed into the shower fully dressed and sank down to the floor. With her knees pulled up to her chest she pressed her face into the bend of her elbow. She chewed on the skin around her fingers, finding it as comforting now as when she first discovered it. But the comfort was not enough and she found herself crying without knowing the exact reasons why. She cried until the water turned cold and then for awhile after that. Finally, worried that someone would find her, she cut the water off and got out. Shedding the wet bodysuit, she threw it in the trash before wrapping up in her towel. It was all she could do to make it into her bed. As she laid down she saw the sky was getting lighter and she felt relieved that at least she wouldn’t have to be in the dark now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's upset.

Hotch tried but couldn’t get back to sleep. Frustrated, he rolled over again, punching his pillow as if that was what was keeping him up. His mind was stuck, spinning on the image of Emily standing outside his door. It wasn’t the first time she’d turned up worse for wear, excited to show off her battle wounds. He’d never turned her away before and the lost look on her face when he had earlier filled him with guilt. He worried he’d done the wrong thing. He’d been told that boundaries were healthy and asserting his needs wasn’t an act of vengeance. But maybe that didn’t apply to their relationship. Where did he set a boundary on someone who felt like an extension of himself? 

As soon as he saw the sky fading from black to gray he got up, showered and went to find her. She didn’t answer and when he opened the unlocked door he saw her unmoving form on the bed. A spike of fear seared through him before he noticed her breathing through a slightly open mouth. She was just passed out. He grimaced and left her alone to sleep it off. 

Later in the morning he brought her coffee and a bagel. She again didn’t answer when he knocked. He opened the door and found her still in bed. Curled on her side, she had the covers pulled up over her head, only her face exposed. At first he thought she was still asleep but saw her blink as she stared at a spot on the floor. 

“Hey,” he said quietly as he entered the room. He sat down opposite her on her roommate’s bed and held out his peace offering. “I brought you some breakfast.”

She slowly looked up at him, her eyes dull. He wondered just how much she’d had to drink last night. He didn’t think he’d seen her this hungover before. He waved the coffee enticingly, hoping the smell would help. 

“Hazelnut oat latte. Triple shot,” he coaxed. 

She stared at him for a beat before closing her eyes and rolling to face the wall. 

“No thanks,” she muttered. 

He frowned. He had been sure she’d come around with a little food and caffeine. She always had in the past. Maybe he had made a bigger mistake than he realized. He dropped his hands to his lap and tried to think of what to say.

“I—I’m sorry about last night. It’s just—“ he fumbled for the words. He hadn’t been mad at her exactly. He understood falling back on a familiar crutch. He also had spent too much time trying to fix problems with alcohol. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t yet figured out it wouldn’t work. He was just exhausted by it. He didn’t know how to explain that her late night appearances brought him back to other nights, less friendly, more damaging. Nights with a different pair of fists banging on his door, seeking him out for a different purpose. Those nights had left him feeling small and broken, his only coherent thought a wish that it would be over soon. Every time she startled him from sleep reminded him of his life before, when the only peace he could imagine was death. He couldn’t say any of that to her.

“I was just tired.” He knew it wasn’t enough. He knew in different circumstances she would be pushing him for more. Instead all he got was silence.

“Emily?”

“It’s fine, Aaron.” Her voice was muffled by the comforter and hard to make out.

“What?” He heard but he was not sure he understood.

“It’s fine. Just go away.” 

That one he understood like a slap in the face. Still, he hesitated.

“Leave. me. alone.” Her voice was flat but the words were crisp. He’d really done it. He pushed her too far and now she was done with him. It was a bitter thought but he felt secretly relieved to discover there wasn’t a bottomless well of forgiveness after all. His worldview now resettled, he found the next steps were easy. He got up and placed the rejected breakfast on her desk, not stopping to push papers into piles for her like he might have the day before. It wasn’t his job to make order from her chaos anymore. He looked at her briefly before he closed the door. She was just an irregular figure under the dark blue covers, still and silent. He didn’t hear her start to cry as the latch caught behind him. 

*

Emily spent the day in bed. She spent the next day in bed as well. The entire weekend she subsisted on water and a few energy bars stolen from her roommate’s stash in the bottom of the closet. She wasn’t really hungry anyway. It took energy to be hungry and she barely had the energy to keep breathing. As she lay there staring at the wall, she couldn’t stop the images from the party filtering through her mind. What started as only flashes of memory crystallized into a damning portrait. Soon, she knew exactly what had happened and how she should feel about it. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead she felt numb. 

The few times she got up, she found dark bruises forming on her arms and thighs. They made her feel nauseous so she covered them with long sleeves and sweats. The scrapes on her hands and knees weren’t anything special so she ignored them after picking out some gravel. There was one injury she couldn’t cover or ignore. She had thought it was dirt and scrubbed at the purple spot along her jaw before hissing in pain. She looked at it again and saw it was a thumb shaped bruise. Turning her head slowly she found matching marks on the other side of her jaw. Her stomach dropped as the memory of it overwhelmed her. 

_She understood that she wasn’t going to get away, that none of her limbs were taking direction from her anymore. So she did the only thing she could think of—she spit in his face, her only remaining defense. He grabbed her roughly and squeezed until she cried out, promising to break her jaw if she did it again._

_“Wouldn’t that be a waste?” he had whispered, mouth far too close to her ear._

Emily stopped looking in the mirror after that. It didn’t matter what she looked like anymore.

In a way, everything that had happened at the party was only a confirmation of the person people already believed she was. She had been intentionally reckless, willfully making all the wrong decisions every step of the way. She had been mad and she had done what she knew would piss Hotch off the most. She understood why he turned her away like he did. She had actually been a little surprised when he showed up the next morning. It was only as she was listening to him try to form a stunted apology that she remembered he didn’t know what she had done. He might have seen the broad strokes but she was sure if he knew the details he’d blame her as much as she blamed herself. She didn’t want to see the disappointment and disgust he was sure to feel upon learning. Better to push him away. She didn’t deserve a friend like him anyway. 

By the time Monday came around, she was completely convinced of her irredeemability. It was okay though. If she was worthless, she didn’t need to bother trying. She rolled out of bed and pulled a dark hoodie on over her leggings. She shoved her feet into her sneakers, hooking a finger behind her foot to pull the heel tab up. On her way out the door, she swept whatever was on her desk into her bag without looking and headed to class. When she got there she sat in the back and didn’t even pretend to take notes. She picked at her fingers and half-listened to the lecture. When the professor started prompting discussion she slid down in her chair, hoping to disappear. 

Normally on Mondays she met Hotch for lunch before their shared afternoon class. Out of habit she walked towards their favorite dining hall only to stop short when she caught sight of the back of him. He had missed a spot when brushing his hair that morning, a big chunk of it sticking up. She would have loved making fun of him for it but she hung back, letting the distance between them grow. She felt her heart beating quickly, a wave of fear constricting her chest. If he saw her, he would try to talk to her. If he talked to her, he would ask what was wrong. And if he asked that—well, she didn’t want to think about what would happen then. She had been meticulously building a wall around the details of the party. She might not be able to escape what happened but she could bury it. It was too soon though, everything was still too close to the surface. A concerned look, a gentle question from him could easily bring it all back up. She would rather be friendless forever than have him know how badly she had fucked up.

*

He looked for her. Against his better judgement he found himself hoping to bump into her in the hallways or on the way to class. He knew she was done with him but a small piece of him held out hope that she might change her mind. He didn’t deserve it. He had been selfish. He had always been selfish. Always asking for more understanding, more forgiveness than he himself was willing to give. All schoolchildren learn the golden rule: treat others the way you would like to be treated. He thought he’d like to be treated kindly but for some reason he could never make it work. He was always upsetting people, making his mother cry, making his father angry. His very existence seemed to be an insult to order. He broke everything around him—rules, dishes, his mother’s heart. She had whispered that to him one night, after the storm of his father’s attention had passed. 

_“Please, won’t you try harder? You’re breaking my heart.”_

He had been eleven and knocked over a glass of milk at dinner. He had just started a growth spurt and his limbs were suddenly long and difficult to keep track of. He hadn’t responded, only bitten his lip to stop from crying while she splinted his broken fingers. He did try harder but it was never enough. 

He was an adult now and could rationally view the things that had happened to him as just that—things that were done to him, that he had no control over. He knew now that he hadn’t caused the drunken rages and hostile silences. He knew it was wrong that the only affection he had gotten at home had been the twisted love of a soft hand wiping blood from his face. He knew in his mind that it wasn’t his fault. But he believed, in a deep, unreachable place in his heart, that it was. So he hadn’t been surprised when Emily turned her back on him, finally tired of his weakness.

He spotted her in class, seated in the back, hood pulled up and face pale. She stared vacantly at the board at the front of the room. Her fingers twisted in her lap, nails digging roughly into skin. He willed her to look his way but it didn’t happen. He desperately wanted to undo the past few days. He wanted to tell her about the blueberry scone he tried that morning. He wanted her to laugh at him when he mispronounced the German terms in their psychology textbook. He almost walked over to sit next to her but he was too afraid she would tell him to go away again. He sighed and headed to a seat on the opposite side of the room. Class began and he did his best to pay attention to the review for their upcoming test. The next time he risked a look in her direction, her seat was empty.

*

Days turned into weeks. She got better at avoiding him. She arrived later and later to class. Sometimes she didn’t make it to class at all. She started eating in a different dining hall. Not as good as Powell; the food here seemed like it sat under a heat lamp for too long. She wasn’t hungry anyway. Nothing tasted right and she’d started feeling sick most mornings. The vodka she drank every night probably wasn’t helping. She was vaguely aware this was a bad habit to indulge but she wasn’t able to sleep without it. Each time she laid down, the images she’d been working so hard to push away returned to taunt her. They played in her mind like a movie and she screamed at the foolish actress to be smarter this time but it never changed. However, if she could get enough liquor in her system, she fell asleep too quickly for the movie to get started.

One day she sat at one of the tables in her new dining hall ignoring a cold slice of pizza in favor of iced coffee. She considered whether she should start spiking her coffee. It would be a risky move. She didn’t interact with anyone closely enough to worry about getting caught but she also didn’t want to completely flunk out out of school. Doctoring her midday drinks seemed a short road to disaster. The only thing she could imagine that was worse than what she was doing now was going home to face her mother, a college dropout and certified failure. 

Still, the idea was alluring. It would soften the edges of having to be around all these people. She’d become jumpy, shying away from any contact or attention. She was always on guard, searching the crowds of students for danger. Though she'd watched that night replay over and over she wasn’t sure what he looked like. Now any medium-tall, blondish-brunette, dark eyed man could be the one. She hated the feeling and was upset with herself every time she froze like a rabbit before a wolf. 

Deep in thought she didn’t hear anyone approach. She only noticed their presence when a hand ran across her shoulder blades, lingering a moment before the owner sat in a chair opposite her. The recognition was immediate. She wondered how she couldn’t remember his face before now, the details were all so familiar. She stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

“I thought that was you.” He smiled as he said it, as if they were friends meeting each other casually.

She didn’t say anything, barely even breathing. She could hear her blood rushing around in her ears, unclear on where it should go to escape this nightmare.

His smile grew though his eyes were hard. She could see now that they were blue. A dark blue that looked black in the shadows. 

“It’s the silent treatment, is it?”

She wondered what he expected. He must have been unaware of the rage burning inside her or he wouldn’t be so relaxed. If only she could make herself move.

“Well, pout if you want to. I don’t mind a little attitude.” He reached out his hand and tilted her chin up, rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip. She wanted to bite him. Her brain was yelling at her body to react, but just like with the girl in her memory, it was useless. Fear had taken over. 

He smiled again as he let go. “I’m glad I found you. You left without saying goodbye. Didn’t anyone teach you manners?” It was a threat and he looked into her eyes to make sure she understood it. She glared back but it was too obvious who held all the power. Satisfied he stood up and started to walk away. 

“Oh,” he stops, “you left your shoe. Come by whenever you want, Emily. I’ll make sure you get it.” 

With that he was gone, passing through the doors and out of sight. She barely made it to a trashcan before throwing up. She hadn’t eaten much over the past day so it was mainly bile, painfully burning her throat. When she straightened up there were people staring at her, disgusted. One girl turned to her friend and made a rude comment that Emily could hear just enough of to know they thought she was drunk. She flipped everyone off and stalked away. She didn’t bother to clear her table, grabbing her bag and heading out a different exit. 

*

Hotch tried his best to remain focused on school. He knew she was avoiding him and reluctantly did his best to make it easier on her. He spent more time in the library (a place she would never go without him) and was careful to sit towards the front of classes they shared so she could hide in the back. He didn’t venture to her side of the dorm building though he had been tempted to ask her roommate how she was doing. From what he could see, not well. It hurt his heart to ignore her but he wanted to respect her wishes. She told him, very clearly, to leave her alone so he would. Classes kept him busy enough and he fell back into old habits—forgetting to eat, staying up all night studying, not talking to anyone for days at a time. He was too young for them to be called frown lines but his face was developing permanent grooves around his mouth and between his eyebrows. 

He was walking towards the library when he saw her. She moved quickly, head bent, hair flying wildly behind her. She was visibly angry and people moved out of her way on the path. As she got closer, he thought about stopping her, insisting on offering whatever comfort he could provide. She was past him before he even finished his thought. She didn’t see him standing on the side of the walkway. 

She didn’t see anything through the all-consuming rage driving her forward. She wasn’t sure where she was going but she knew she needed to hurt something. She could see his smug face floating before her and she wanted to break it. If she could, she would kill him without hesitation. But she couldn’t. She was too weak. Too weak to even say anything to him when given the chance. This unpleasant thought slowed her down. She was reminded that all this had happened because of her. There was no point in hurting him when she would still be the same person who was naive enough to let this happen. The only worthwhile person to hurt was herself. She was the real problem. With that realization, she changed direction, heading back to her dorm and the bottles she’d hidden there. 

*

It took talent to maintain a level of inebriation that kept her just beneath the surface of reality without destroying her physically. Here she couldn’t feel enough to care, every responsibility and unwelcome emotion just slid away. She could walk to class (when she bothered to go) without feeling people’s eyes on her, oblivious to their judgement. Sometimes she got tired on the way and laid down on a bench or under a tree instead. Occasionally she fell asleep and was out until the chill of sunset woke her. Part of her knew this would be the end of her but if she was being honest, that was probably for the best. The world didn’t benefit from her presence, it certainly wouldn’t notice her absence. 

Even in the permanent fog she had been cultivating, Emily could tell something was off. She didn’t want to believe it. She had been desperately hoping it wasn’t true. She was late all the time. The word stress didn’t even begin to cover how she had been feeling. There were a dozen explanations that didn’t involve this. Please, please, she begged, anything but this. On the sixth week she caved to her paranoia and bought a test. When she asked for a pack of cigarettes to go with it, the clerk gave her a disapproving look. 

“Hoping for the best!” She tried to sound cheerful and gave the sour woman a wink. Inside, she felt all her organs turning to stone. 

She found a gas station with a single stall bathroom. This kind of thing couldn’t be done in a dorm bathroom shared by half a dozen girls. Not unless you planned on letting everyone else know too. She paced as she waited, ignoring the knocks on the door. When enough time had passed she took a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes and sending one last plea into the universe. When she looked down at it everything went black for a moment. She steadied herself against the graffitied wall, breathing through her nose before looking again. 

Positive.

She bit down on the back of her fist to keep from screaming. Whoever was at the door was knocking again.

“Fuck off!” she yelled back. She looked at herself in the mirror. Get a grip, Emily. She had to get out of there. That was the first step. She would figure out the rest of it after that. She realized she was still holding the plastic test, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white. If only she was strong enough to crush it, pulverize it until it was only a harmless powder. She wrapped it in several paper towels, shoving it deep into the trashcan so no one would accidentally see it. Not that it mattered. Did anything really matter at this point? She felt a wave of hysterical laughter threaten to consume her. She had to move faster.

She slammed the door open, making the impatient knocker jump. That gave her some small satisfaction as she sped through the convenience market and out the door. She had gotten the cigarettes open before she got to the end of the block. It took a couple tries to get one lit, eventually having to pause to be able to coordinate the necessary movements. She felt a thin chemical relief immediately begin to soothe her. She was never a big smoker but she’d always found them comforting in times of crisis. The smell reminded her of summer nights and the burning of the smoke in her lungs helped distract her from the thoughts that were trying to consume her.

She walked rapidly back to campus, chain smoking the whole way. She couldn’t focus enough to come up with a plan. She could barely wrap her mind around the reality she was now facing. She felt her skin crawl with the knowledge there was something growing inside her. Something unwelcome and alien. Horrible, undeniable evidence that all her memories were real. 

She reached her dorm building but wasn’t ready to go inside. She felt trapped already, she couldn’t bear the idea of being surrounded by walls and people. She collapsed onto a ledge running around a planter beside the entryway. Switching off between worrying her fingers with her teeth and taking drags on her cigarette, she tried to reason her way to calm. She leaned her elbows on her knees and examined the concrete between her feet, trying to remember what people did with problems like this. 

“Emily?”

As soon as she looked up into Hotch’s worried face she started crying. She dropped her head into her hands, nearly burning herself. He was the last person she wanted see. She had been working so hard to stay away, to keep her failure to herself. There had been many times over the past weeks she had wished she could find him and beg for his friendship. She’d fantasized about lying, creating elaborate stories to explain her behavior. But she had been too afraid he would see through her. Now he was going to find out anyway.

“Emily, what’s wrong?” He knelt down in front of her, placing his hands cautiously on her knees. “Hey, talk to me. Please?” He pulled the half smoked cigarette from her fingers and crushed it on the ground beside them. She was still sobbing even though she was pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to hold the tears back by barricade. He waited, staying very still and watching her closely. She slowly calmed down enough to take a few shaky breaths. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and avoided his eyes, looking instead at the hole forming in the toe of her sneaker.

“Emily.” 

She shivered involuntarily. 

“Look at me.” He gave her knee a little shake of encouragement. The look on her face drove a knife through his heart. 

“I really messed up, Hotch.” There was no point in trying to hide it now. 

He waited for her to say more.

“I—I—“she stuttered, starting to panic. 

He got off the ground and sat next to her, pressing against her side the way she had done to him so many times before. He took her hands between his much larger ones, holding them gently and hoping he was doing the right thing. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.” He tried to sound encouraging and not let the fear he was feeling show in his voice. He was truly alarmed seeing her like this. She was so strong, so fearless. Whatever was going on was not going to be easy to deal with.

His solid presence helped ground her and she relaxed against him a little. She closed her eyes, unsure where to start. 

“There’s…a lot.” 

He squeezed her fingers encouragingly. 

“You remember the night I…when I woke you up?”

She felt him stiffen and she stumbled on quickly before he could change his mind and leave.

“Something…happened. At the party. I was being stupid and I—“ She starts crying again. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her, trying to read more between the phrases she was giving him.

“Oh Aaron. I’m pregnant.” 

She folded in on herself again, too ashamed to look at him. The pieces finally fit together—the way she had looked like someone had dragged her down a street, how out of it she had been the next day. He felt a piercing self-hatred realizing it had taken him so long to understand. He had failed her and he would never forgive himself for it. But right now he needed to focus. He didn’t know what to say so he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her upright and gathering her to his chest. She wept into his collar while he smoothed his hand over her hair, again and again.

“It’s going to be ok,” he said, gritting his teeth and praying he could make that true. His mind raced ahead with possibilities—the top of his list was breaking the neck of the asshole that had done this.

She pulled back a little to look at him, finally calm enough to be wary. He looked at her evenly, ready to accept whatever justified anger she was going to direct at him. She only bit her lip and looked away.  
  
“I’m really sorry, Em,” he said, his voice tight. “I should have been there.”

“Do you hate me?” She spoke so quietly he almost missed it.

“What? No, of course not. Why would I hate you?”

She sighed. “You’re mad.”

He put a hand on her arm. “Please, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

She looked at him closely to see if he was lying. 

“I’m not mad at you Emily.” 

Mad for her maybe. Mad at himself, definitely. Furious with whoever did this to her. But not at her. The thought that she believed he would be angry with her for being attacked made him sick. 

She didn’t look completely convinced but he’d never lied to her before. Accepting that he meant it, she leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. She’d take what she could get. She was too tired, too afraid to question him further.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” he added fiercely.

It was so easy to make promises at nineteen. He didn’t mean to lie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some problem solving.

There was no miraculous recovery to their friendship. Things remained tense between the two of them. Emily was on edge for obvious reasons and he still wasn’t sure where he stood with her. The split had shaken his trust more than he wanted to admit. Still, he knew he needed to be there for her. Despite her best efforts he saw how delicate she was right now. He saw her tensing in crowds, grinding her teeth whenever someone brushed past her, hanging back ever so slightly as they entered buildings. He was familiar with all these little grasps at safety. He could have made a list without a second thought. They were all things he had seen his mother do, things he had felt himself doing. Emily was scared and she wasn’t sure when that danger would reappear. 

He did what he could, staying close and being mindful about the spaces they went to. He first realized he needed to be more cautious after they tried to go to the dining hall during the midday rush hours. Emily didn’t eat anything. She spent her whole time stiff, searching the faces of the other diners. She had been worried about running into him ever since the first time he had appeared unexpectedly. Now she had to worry about Hotch, too. She distinctly did not want Hotch to know his identity. He was unable to mask his fury whenever the topic surfaced. She knew nothing good would come of their meeting. She appreciated that he wanted to fight for her but what she really wanted was for this to never have happened. Hotch getting involved, bringing some sort of vigilante justice to him, made it much harder to pretend. 

Plus she didn’t want him getting in trouble over her. She knew how hard he worked to keep his clean record, his scholarship contingent on high grades and good behavior. In a less concrete way she also knew what it would mean for Hotch’s relationship with his parents if he were to find himself in trouble. He was evasive but had slipped up enough for her to have a rough picture of the Hotchner household. It wasn’t all so so different from her own, she thought. Opposite sides of the same coin perhaps—love that didn’t exist within normal boundaries, too present or too distant. The lonely place in her heart hollowed by frosty absence, his carved out with a heated knife. She didn’t want to be the catalyst for any conflict there. 

*

That first day he found her she had been unable to discuss options. Far too overwhelmed by her current reality, she waved him off when he tried to bring it up and curled into herself in a way that made him kick himself for asking. A couple of days later while they were walking back to the dorms he tried to tactfully broach the subject again only to be surprised by her short reply. 

“I’m going in Friday.”

“Oh, ok. Good. That’s good?”

She looked at him, squinting slightly. “Yes? Are you surprised?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, of course not.”

“What? Did you think I wasn’t going to get an abortion? That I was going to have a fucking baby?” She stopped and rounded on him, growing angrier with each word. 

He stopped also, but carefully backed up to the side of the path, pulling her gently with him. He dropped his hand when she snatched her arm away. “No. You just didn’t seem like you knew what you wanted to do before. I thought maybe you wanted to talk about it before you decided.”

“I can take care of myself.”

He rubbed his face with his hand, not sure how he had offended her. He spoke through his fingers.“I know, Emily. I just want to be there for you. For whatever you need.”

He looked up and she was glaring at him. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” he offered.

She wanted to stay mad. The anger felt good even though she knew it was a little misplaced. She remembered how she had imagined he would look at her once he knew. She hadn’t let herself hope for understanding. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but having him back in her life had been a huge relief. She didn’t have the words to properly express to him what it meant to her that he was there. That he hadn’t hesitated to hold her close, hadn’t questioned or abandoned her. 

Now she was acting ungrateful, lashing out at him when he was only trying to help. She had worried he might second guess her decision, have some moral hang up bred of his conservative upbringing. She hadn’t wanted to involve him in this step, didn’t want to need help. She was afraid to discover a limit to the grace he’d given her. She hugged her arms around herself and nodded, feeling too awkward to look at him directly. 

“Please.”

“Then I’ll be there,” he said simply and started walking again. She followed a half step behind.

*

The time between that conversation and Thursday dilated uncomfortably. Every moment she was aware of what was happening inside her: cells collecting and dividing, a slow, sinister act of creation. She knew she couldn’t literally feel what was happening but her skin crawled with the knowledge. If she let herself think about it, it would consume her. Frozen by the thought it felt like hours before she she could move again, only to find just moments had passed. She could only keep track of the passing time by the different foods that were available in the dining hall. Waffles, it must be morning; stir fry, evening again. She followed Hotch around and he led her to class, to eat, back home again.

She looked up from her plate, still filled with untouched potatoes and greens. He was looking at her and she knew he’d asked her a question but she didn't know what it was. She thought she remembered him asking if she wanted more water, though that could have been during a different meal or a dream. 

“Yes,” she said, faking confidence.

He stared at her blankly.

“Sounds good.” She hoped she wasn't agreeing to anything serious.

His stare became somewhat anxious.

“I have no idea what you said,” she admitted reluctantly as she looked at her full water glass.

He exhaled sharply, everything still too bleak to laugh. “What time do we need to be at the clinic tomorrow?”

Was it tomorrow already? For her it had been weeks since yesterday and yet only this morning that had been the Tuesday before last.

He waited for her to answer, watching the wheels turning slowly, gears mismatched and stuttering. She pressed her thumb hard against the sharp end of her fork, trying to pull up the relevant information.

“Noon. The appointment is at noon.”

He reached out and touched her hand gently. “Okay.”

*

They left early to walk to the clinic. Rather than use the campus health center and risk detection by her mother, she found a local clinic about a twenty minute walk from campus. Their walk was quiet, both attempting to appear more stable than they felt. She was eager to be done with this whole experience. He was not sure what to expect, everything about it still a mystery to him. Too uncomfortable to ask questions, he hoped his presence would be enough. As they approached the low cement building, she slipped her hand into his. Only slightly surprised, he squeezed her fingers softly.

They went inside and were struck by the quiet. There were people sitting in about half the chairs, mostly young women. Everyone looked similarly focused, no one spoke unnecessarily. Emily walked up to the counter and gave her name and appointment information. The receptionist was kind, smiling patiently as she stumbled over her words. Once checked-in she was given a clipboard of forms to fill out. She turned to find Hotch still standing awkwardly by the door. She eyed a couple empty chairs between them and nodded to them with her chin. They met at the corner seats and she dropped her bag onto the floor beside the chair as she sat down. He sat a little more reluctantly, still scanning the waiting room. 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She was focused on filling in birthday and address and didn’t register what he said. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you wanted me to go up there with you or…” he trailed off. He hated that he was so nervous. He had waited in dozens of rooms like this before, many far more chaotic than this. It was tense in here but it was also hopeful. He stopped looking around and dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. He traced a nail with his thumb, feeling all the bumps and edges.

She looked over at him, saw the apprehension shadowing his eyes. “I’m going to be ok,” she promised. She was not yet convinced of this but it felt good to say.  
  
He nodded. “I know that. It’s just—“ he swallowed. This was no time to be bringing out his own problems. Regardless of what he wanted though, he could feel his stomach tightening, a conditioned response to the danger presented by medical offices. He hated doctors with their cold gloved fingers pressing into fresh wounds, only to act surprised when he shrank away from the pain. It was always harder to lie when they confused him like that, the sensations blocking out thought. His well-practiced story would seem to slip out of his mind and his mother would look at him, terrified, as he grasped at the correct details. Waiting rooms were not his favorite place to be by a long shot. 

She was too involved with her paperwork to notice how he’d retreated into himself. After skipping the section on insurance (it’d be much easier to hide a couple hundred dollars pulled out of her checking account than a claim for abortion on the statements her mother received), she’d come to a form asking more specific questions about her body. She was trying to count back weeks in her mind but kept getting tripped up. She pulled out her phone to look at the calendar and her heart sank when she confirmed the number she had been hoping was a mistake. Had it really been two months? She’d lost so much time. 

She finished filling out what she could of the forms and leaned back into the vinyl chair. She did feel more calm now that she was here. The anticipation had been difficult but now all the pieces were in place. She’d gotten herself here, now she could just follow along with the rest of the ride. She leaned her head onto Hotch’s shoulder. Absently he turned his face towards her and kissed the top of her head. His only reflexive act of affection, he had done that to soothe Sean more times than he could count. He had never done it to Emily, however. She closed her eyes and smiled, again thanking the universe that she had somehow earned a friend like him. They waited for her name to be called. 

Though she was expecting it, hearing her name still made her jump a little. They both stood up and turned towards the nurse. 

“That’s me,” her voice sounded squeaky, unable to get enough air into her lungs. 

The woman smiled sympathetically. “I’m afraid your friend will have to wait out here. We can bring him into the recovery room as soon as your done though. Is that going to be ok?”

Emily and Hotch looked at each other, exchanging silent messages. They had known this was probably how it would happen. She didn’t really want him to see her like that anyway. But still, it was hard to let go when she had been spending the past week relying on him to keep herself standing. He knew she would be taken care of but he still didn’t want to let her disappear into the back hallways and exam rooms of the clinic. In his mind the building stretched out infinitely, hallways becoming mazes, folding and twisting into inescapable loops. Once she was beyond that door he wouldn’t be able to get to her quickly; once she was out of his sight, he couldn’t make sure she was safe. What if she needed him and he wasn’t there again? 

She settled on a quick hug. “I’ll see you on the other side.” She was trying to be light but it came out sounding grave.

He nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Em.”

She followed the nurse through the door and he returned to one of the stiff chairs, this time deliberately choosing one with a view of both doors. He looked at his watch. It had already been more than an hour. He wasn’t sure how long it was going to be but he figured he could safely assume it wouldn’t be quick. He’d brought a book because the thought of flipping through waiting room magazines made him uneasy. He opened to the scrap of paper he’d been using as a bookmark and stared at the page. His mind refused to focus as he read and reread the same three paragraphs. 

Eventually he gave up and leaned his head back against the wall behind him, narrowing his eyes but never fully closing them. No one paid attention to him, everyone there was too tangled in their own personal dramas. He started making lists in his head: adjectives starting with each letter of the alphabet, working backwards from Z, animals that migrated, the different license plates he had memorized. The last one had begun as a way to drown out the fighting as his family traveled to and from his grandparents’ house several hours out of town. He would try to remember each license plate that passed, whispering them to himself in a long string of letters and numbers, an incantation to prevent disaster. It was never clear whether it was ineffective or if his definition of disaster was too small.

*

Emily was led to an exam room. The nurse checked over her forms, following up on some pieces of information she hadn’t properly addressed. The nurse explained how the procedure was going to work, how the anesthesia was likely to make her feel and what she could expect in the following days. Emily nodded when she was supposed to, affirming that her decision was hers alone. She made fists with her hands to stop from picking at her nails, determined to appear calm and in control. The nurse gently patted her shoulder before she left, promising that the doctor would be in as soon as possible.

As soon as possible wasn’t all that soon it turned out. After sitting nervously at attention for twenty minutes, Emily laid down on her side on the exam table. The white paper crinkled beneath her as she tried to find a good position. She kept an eye on the door, alert to any sound or movement coming from its direction. She didn’t want to be caught sleeping, already feeling far too vulnerable in this place. She stared at the white paint of the door for so long that she started to see shapes floating on its surface. They grew and melted and she was mesmerized by it until suddenly the door swung towards her. She sat up quickly, trying to look as if she had been upright the whole time, but the creased paper gave her away. 

This time there were several people that entered. She got more considerate smiles as she was introduced to the doctor, the anesthesiologist, the nurse from before. Again she stayed quiet, just nodding when it was appropriate and wondering what Hotch was doing out in the waiting room. There was more explanation of what was about to happen and she shifted uncomfortably, partly wishing that she didn’t need to know quite so much detail. 

Finally things got started. It was not a pleasant position to be in and she second guessed her decision not to choose the at home option. Her dorm room just hadn’t seemed like the best place to try to go through something like this. The promise of a quick procedure, in, out and on with her life had landed her here. In a cold white room, outnumbered by people in white coats and sterile gloves. She felt her heart rate picking up, panic threatening to overpower her. She felt a light touch on her shoulder and turned her head to see the nurse smiling at her. 

“You’re doing great.”

Emily closed her eyes. The anesthesia started to work and she felt herself begin to drift. When she opened her eyes the nurse was still there, still smiling at her. She had said something but Emily hadn’t registered it.

“All done,” she repeated.

“Oh,” was all Emily could say. She thought she had only blinked a little long. But sure enough she saw the doctor straightening up the different medical detritus on the counter. The anesthesiologist was busily wrapping up some tubing. 

“Let’s get you dressed and over to the recovery room.”

“Is Hotch there?” Emily felt a sudden pang of worry. What if he had left, had decided she was too much trouble after all?

The nurse looked confused for a moment then realized what she was asking. “If you have someone waiting for you we can bring them back once you’re settled.”

Frowning, Emily accepted that answer. If she had someone waiting. Did she? The drugs were making her mind hazy. She remembered coming in with Hotch but she also remembered him being upset. Had he been upset with her? It was hard to be sure when it felt like all her recent memories had been shuffled like a deck of cards. 

She let the nurse guide her to another room down the hallway. This room was softer, lacking the metallic equipment and raised exam table. Instead there were a couple arm chairs and one particularly soft looking couch. A side table held individually wrapped snacks and tea bags. Without invitation, Emily dropped onto the couch, leaning heavily against the arm and enjoying the pressure of the cushions behind her. 

The nurse asked her if she wanted something to drink but Emily only looked at her with glazed eyes.

“Where’s Hotch?” She did her best not to sound desperate but there was a tremble in her voice she couldn’t contain.

“Ok, I’ll go get him. But think about having something to eat and drink. It’ll help.”

Emily nodded to show she would obey and the nurse left her, closing the door quietly. Emily leaned further into the couch, she was feeling a little nauseous and the colors around her appeared upsettingly bright. She closed her eyes and tucked her face into her arm. She completely forgot about eating or drinking anything.

*

As the nurse walked Hotch to the recovery room, she listed advice on how to take care of Emily. “She’s going to be tired and probably a little confused for the next couple hours. It’s best to just relax, watch a movie, nothing too strenuous. Make sure she eats and drinks plenty of water. We’re sending home some painkillers if she needs them.” 

They reached the door. “Take as long as you need but she will probably be ready to go in half an hour.” She open the door. “Emily?”

Emily turned her face up from where she’d pressed it into the couch. Her vision was momentarily clouded by black spots that scattered in the sudden change of lighting.

“I’ve brought your friend, Mr. Hotchner. He’s going to sit with you until you’re ready to go. I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit.” 

Emily nodded vacantly.

Hotch thanked the nurse as she left and crossed the room to Emily, who was still looking dazed. He crouched down in front of her, one hand on the arm of the couch. He looked closely into her face and she stared back at him with her wide brown eyes. She blinked.

“You’re very pretty Mr. Hotchner.”

He snorted, ducking his head, hair falling across his forehead. She reached out to push it back, running her fingers through it. 

“So, so pretty.”

“Alright you,” he said, standing up, trying to hide a smile. “Let’s get something in that drug-addled brain so we can get out of here. What sounds good?”

She sat up and shrugged one shoulder. It didn't matter to her, she was just glad he was here. He grabbed a peppermint teabag from the basket and put together some tea for her. She watched him from her spot on the couch as he considered the snack options. He sat down next to her, pressing the paper cup into her hand and tearing open the package of dark chocolate cookies. She yelped when the boiling water burned her tongue. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, looking genuinely apologetic, as if he had intentionally overheated the water. She just shook her head and tilted her face down into the steam coming from the cup. The smell was soothing even if she couldn't drink it yet. She heard crunching next to her and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. 

“Those are supposed to be for me.”

“There’s more,” he defended himself, mouth half full.

She laughed and he felt himself relax. He had been painfully on edge for days, probably weeks. She had been so distressed and he hadn’t known what to do to fix it. He hadn’t been sure how this experience might complicate things further. Too familiar with disappointment, he had prepared to find her still broken, still consumed by grief. But here she was, laughing at him again. It was the thing he loved and had missed most about her. He allowed himself to hope a little. Maybe this was going to work out. Maybe they could get past this and everything would be okay again. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch makes a mistake.

Back out in the world everything seemed sweeter. It was nearly spring and the trees had started to blossom. Both of them felt an almost frantic sense of optimism. Emily, giddy and still a little lightheaded, walked close to Hotch as they made their way back to campus. They made plans for the rest of the afternoon: they would camp out in Hotch’s common room watching _Planet Earth_ (a compromise—Hotch vetoed _Saw_ but Emily insisted she needed to see some sort of carnage and flat out refused to entertain any suggestions involving cartoons), they’d order pizza and Hotch promised to make “the special hot chocolate” that just involved mixing the packet with milk instead of water. 

They had just gotten back onto campus and were turning to take the route to their dorm. Intensely bickering over pizza toppings, they didn’t notice the man step into their path. 

“Emily?”

She stopped short, immediately recognizing the voice. Hotch stopped next to her, alert. He looked between Emily’s stunned expression and the stranger in front of them.

“Hello there,” the man’s voice was friendly. “It’s been a while.”

Emily didn’t say anything but couldn’t look away either. This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid. She tried to think of a way out of this, anything to get them out of this moment. 

“Do I know you?” Hotch asked the man, not liking the way he had moved in so close.

He turned his cold eyes to Hotch for a moment and smirked, turning back to Emily. “What? Too embarrassed to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

Emily’s mouth opened and closed, not managing to create any sound.  
  
“We’re not—“ Hotch stopped and looked at Emily again. He could feel her shaking, her fear unmistakable. He snapped his eyes back to the other man, who looked at him indifferently. 

“No? She can be a little difficult.” He smiled viciously at Emily. “Although, maybe you’re just not her type.” He casually reached forward to run a finger down the curve of her cheek. He didn’t make it halfway to her jaw before Hotch swung at him. He stumbled backward, surprised. He glanced at Emily, who hadn’t moved, and looked back at Hotch who was pale with fury. 

“I wouldn’t,” the man said mildly. “She isn’t worth it, believe me.”

Hotch was on top of him in less than a breath. The second hit knocked him down entirely, his head hit the ground so hard it recoiled. The man fought back, throwing his fists wildly, catching Hotch across the cheekbone. It didn’t slow him down. Hotch was bigger and far, far angrier. All the rage he’d been holding back easily broke through any rational thought. He knelt across the other man’s chest and swung at him relentlessly. He was completely unaware of the way people started to gather around them, of the way the other man grew more and more still, no longer struggling against him. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see past the brightness of his hatred.

There was a tug on his shoulder as he pulled his arm back to slam his fist into the other man’s face again. His elbow connected with something soft. He turned to see Emily doubled over and gasping. She clutched at her abdomen, trying to catch her breath. Abruptly aware of the rest of the world, he looked around at the horrified faces of the crowd. He looked down at his hands, knuckles split and covered in blood. He gagged, close to throwing up at the smell, so sharp and familiar. He scrambled up and put a hand on Emily’s back. He bent over to try to see her face. She was breathing okay again but still squeezing tightly around her middle. He could see that she was close to tears.

“It hurts,” she whispered. 

His heart broke. He spent years and years trying to change, trying to get away from this. Still, here he is again, losing control and hurting the only person he cared about. For what? He sent a nervous glance to the body on the ground, horribly still. This wouldn’t fix anything. It had been selfish. He had realized exactly who the man was and instead of thinking, he let his temper snap. And now Emily was hurt. He had hurt her. His thoughts were racing now, all the functionality he had lost to single-minded revenge returned. He knew he should stay, should make sure the other man got help and own up to his crime. But he needed to get Emily home safely first. That had been the original plan and he clung to the shredded remains of it like it might save him somehow.

“Come on,” he said as gently as he could, “let’s get back.”

She nodded and managed to stand mostly upright. She deliberately did not look at Hotch’s hands or the destruction he’d caused. Her mind was having a hard time grasping a complete thought. 

She had been frightened by the way his face had hardened, all evidence of the person she knew replaced with a stony ruthlessness. She grew more worried as his strikes took on an almost rhythmic quality, like he wasn’t aware of the harm he was causing anymore. That was when she was able to break out of her immobility, to call his name and, when that hadn’t worked, try to grab hold of him, physically hold him back. That hadn’t worked well for her either. What had been a hardly noticeable dull ache in her abdomen had become sharp and painful. The first violent stab had taken her breath away. She leaned over, hoping that by applying pressure she could get the muscles to calm down, to stop trying to rip her apart from the inside out. It wasn’t really working. 

At least Hotch was back with her, his sanity returned. He was hovering over her nervously, unsure how to help, mortified that he had caused this. She let him guide her through the thickening crowd. Some people were on their phones, some people were talking quietly to each other, no one tried to stop them. He might not be overcome with fury at the moment but they had all seen what he could do, how he had transformed. They might whisper that it was wrong of him to leave and embellish their stories later, claiming they had tried to confront him, but no one was going to step in Aaron Hotchner’s path right then.

*

They made it back to the dorm without further incident. The ride up the elevator silent and thankfully empty. When they got to their floor, he hesitated.

“Do you still want to come to my room?”

She shook her head. “I think I just need to lie down for a bit,” she said through clenched teeth. It was taking everything she had not to collapse onto the floor. 

He did his best not to show his disappointment. He reminded himself that this was about her and not what he wanted. He would have done better to remember that earlier as well. He knew he would pay for that one way or another but he wanted to make sure she was okay. She was all that mattered. So he led her to her room and helped her take off her shoes. He found some water for her to take the pain medication with and made sure to refill it. He shut her curtains even though the sun would be going down soon anyway. 

She laid down on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest, eyes heavy. She appreciated what he was doing, trying to take care of her. But she really wished he would leave. There was too much in her mind and she needed to turn everything off for awhile. The pain in her stomach was severe and all she could focus on. 

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, trying to sound neutral.

“No, I’m ok.”

He nodded but wasn’t sure that she was telling the truth. Her face twisted in pain and she looked unnaturally pale.

“It’s ok Aaron, I promise. I’ll—I’ll call you later. When I wake up. I just…” her words were getting more and more stilted, her breaths shorter.

“Ok, you can call me if you need anything. I can bring you food later.” He found himself still unwilling to leave her.

She waved her hand at him and curled more tightly around the pillow. 

He flipped off the light as he closed the door, followed out by a muffled “thank you.” Once she was out of sight, he understood why he had been so reluctant to leave. Without her to take care of, he had nothing to think about but the blood covering his hands and the terrible mistake he’d just made. He walked back to his room, unable to think about anything but the memory of the flashing anger compelling him to drive his fists into the other man’s face and chest, again and again. 

_He deserved it_ , a part of him reasoned as he rinsed his hands under the faucet. The warm water stung the places where his skin had split and his knuckles were swollen at the joints. He didn’t disagree with that. If Emily’s rapist was run over by a bus and then slowly eaten alive by vultures, he couldn’t see anything wrong with that. The man deserved no mercy. No, the problem was that he had lost control of himself. He had let the violence inside him get out and he hated himself for it. It proved his inability to escape the past he always tried to deny. Every day he tried to make different choices than his father but he was still wholly capable of the same kind of brutality he had been taught. No matter how much he worked to change it, inside him was something hard and dangerous. 

He cleaned up his hands as best he could. The skin under his left eye was puffy and red where he had been hit. He pressed on it with his fingertips, frowning as the skin turned white under the pressure then filled back in bright red when he let go. It would turn into a dark bruise that would mark him as a fighter for weeks. 

Unsure what to do with himself he tried to catch up on some classwork. He had been so focused on Emily he had let some things start to get away from him. After staring at his laptop for an hour though, he gave up. He tried texting her to see if she was up and wanting company but didn’t get a response. 

He paced the hallways where he ran into another kid who lived on their floor. He thought maybe his name was Darren. Unable to avoid it, he stopped to chat. They exchanged some empty information about the day. Hotch hoped to extract himself quickly by being as bland as possible.

“Did you hear about the guy who got his ass beat out on the lawn?”

Hotch shrugged warily while the other guy stared openly at his cheek. 

“They say the guy who did it just walked away like nothing happened.”

Hotch still didn’t respond, increasingly self-conscious.

“They’re looking for him. The guy he beat up is in the hospital, half dead. No doubt he’s gonna press charges once they figure out who did it.”

“That’s, uh, that’s pretty wild.” He knew this lie wasn’t going to last long but he hadn’t figured out what he was going to do yet. He needed more time. He needed to make sure Emily was okay before anything happened to him. 

“Most excitement we’ve had all year.”

Hotch made a non-committal sound, trying to think of a polite way to end this conversation. “Sorry, I really have to go. My friend is sick and I need to check on her.”

Maybe-Darren waved him off, unconcerned. The guy was odd and if he wasn’t so quiet, so studious, it would be easy to believe he was the culprit. He always looked angry and rarely spoke to anyone besides the loud girl he hung around with. Maybe-Darren considered it for a brief moment as he walked to the elevators. If the Hotch kid was the other fighter, he certainly did not see any reason to get involved. You never knew when a guy like that was going to snap (or snap again) and he liked his face the way it was.

  
Hotch retreated to his common area. Too anxious to be in his room but too nervous to go outside and potentially run into someone who could identify him. He knew it was only a matter of time before a decision was made for him regarding the attack. There wasn’t much hope of him coming out of that in a good position. He knew he deserved whatever he had coming to him but he still felt regretful about Emily. They had only just mended their relationship and now he was probably going to have to leave her on her own again. He hoped she would forgive him. 

Thinking about her, he checked his phone again but no messages had come through. He sighed, frustrated at his ineffectualness. There had to be something better he could be doing. Suddenly he remembered the heating pad he had stored under his sweaters. He’d been attached to that thing growing up; the only comfort he could ever count on. Since coming to school he had felt a little embarrassed pulling it out in front of the other guys in his dorm. So it had lived in his drawer untouched for awhile. He was sure it would be useful to Emily, even if she didn’t want him there he could do this for her. He pulled it out and headed towards her end of the building. 

The floor was quiet, most people out at dinner or still studying. When he got to her dorm, he found the door ajar and the lights on. He knocked lightly before pushing it open only to be faced with an empty bed. He turned slowly to look around the girls’ common area, as if she might be hiding behind some piece of furniture. He pulled out his phone and tried to call her but he could hear her phone buzzing amidst the blankets on her bed. He dug around and found it, seeing that all of his messages that afternoon had been left unopened. Concerned now, he dropped phone and heating pad on the unmade bed and left the room to look for her. 

As he passed the bathroom he heard the shower running. He wavered for a moment— prominent among the strict rules he followed was one prohibiting him from entering the women’s restroom. His worry outweighed his propriety and he pushed the door open slightly.

“Emily?” he called. “You in there?”

There was no response besides the sound of running water and steam escaping through the opened door. 

“I’m gonna come in there for a second. Just tell me if you want me to stay out.”

Still no response. He felt his heart picking up speed, dire scenarios starting to flash through his mind.

The curtain was pulled across the last shower stall, water pooling slightly beneath it.

“Emily?” he called again. He heard a sniffle. “Hey, are you okay?”

After a long pause he finally got a response. 

“I’m fine.” 

He could hear from the shake in her voice she was anything but fine.

“I’m worried about you, Em.” He closed his eyes, trying to figure out what the right thing to do was. “Please, let me help. What can I do?”

This was met with more silence.

He had just opened his mouth to try to convince her to come out when thin fingers appeared near the bottom of the curtain. They pulled it open slightly and he could see her, thankfully still clothed in shorts and a tank top, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, one arm wrapped tightly around them. Her hair hung around her face in dripping chunks and her eyes were tired. 

“Sit with me?”

He looked at her doubtfully. “How about you get out first?” he countered. “I brought—“

“Please? I just want to stay here a little longer.”

He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up. He thought about all the reasons he did not want to sit in a shower in a women’s restroom. But he couldn’t say no. He sighed as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head.

“I’m not getting naked.”

“What a shame,” she said dryly. 

He blushed as he undid his pants. He still couldn’t figure out how she was so nonchalant about undressing. But he powered through the discomfort and took a deep breath before stepping into the shower. 

She had edged over to make room for him. He slid down the wall, folding his long legs in to fit the space. Once the initial distaste of being unexpectedly wet wore off, he could see how this could be soothing. She leaned against him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He tilted his head back so water wouldn’t drip into his eyes and mouth. They sat like that quietly for several minutes. 

“You scared me,” she admitted, tracing his injured hand with her finger.

“I know. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“I wish I could have done it myself.”

He paused, unsure how to respond. “It was wrong of me.”

“He deserved it. I was thinking about how happy I would be if he died.” Then, “Do you think that makes me a bad person?”

“No. Thinking things doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“But you think you’re a bad person.” Her statement, so simple, drove right into his heart and made his breath catch.

“Well, I’ve done bad things, so, that’s…that’s how that works.”  
She tucked her head against his shoulder. “Is it bad if you were protecting someone else?”

“It was more than that,” he said, refusing to let himself off the hook.

She sighed. “I don’t think you’re bad. I think you made a mistake. Mistakes don’t make you a bad person either.”

He didn’t say anything to this and they sat in silence again. The water ran down their bare legs and collected around their feet. He could feel the temperature starting to cool and goosebumps began to form on his arms.

“Can we get out now?”

She ignored him for a moment, staring at her toes, lost in thought. He shifted and she looked over at him. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek before rolling up to her feet and turning off the water. He was a little dazed by the action and was slower to stand. She briskly opened the curtain and stepped out of the shower, unfazed by the wet clothes clinging to her. She stripped before toweling off and, deeply embarrassed, he stared hard at the floor while he shivered. 

“Here,” was all the warning she gave before launching the towel at him. He barely caught it before it fell on the wet ground. His eyes went wide when he realized she had nothing on now and was relieved when she walked out of the bathroom. He dried off as best he could and got dressed before following her to her room. When he got there she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, holding up the heating pad gingerly.

“It’s a heating pad,” he sounded defensive.

“I know what it is. Why do you have one?”

He shrugged. “It comes in handy.”

“Hmm. Ok.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I can take it back to my room.”

“No, no. It’s mine now. You brought it to me.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They smiled at each other and he thought about how fucking lucky he was.  
  
“Want to watch something?”

“Sure, _whatever_ you want.” He regretted it immediately.

She grinned. “Whatever I want?” 

“Please don’t pick something that’s going to give me nightmares,” he groaned.

She looked wicked as she patted the bed next to her. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

He climbed into the narrow bed as she pulled out her laptop and started discussing possibilities. He didn’t really listen, he wasn’t planning on paying attention anyway. The shower was more relaxing that he could have hoped and he found himself thoroughly exhausted by the day. He hummed in agreement whenever it seemed like she was waiting for input and finally she pulled something up. He was asleep before they made it ten minutes into the movie. 

  
He didn’t wake up until much later. She’d fallen asleep too, the closed laptop had slid down between her and the wall. He could feel the warmth from the heating pad wrapped around her middle and smiled. He found his phone to check the time and saw it was already 5:30 am. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept for that long. He yawned as he slid out of the bed, careful not to wake Emily. He carried his shoes in his hand as he walked down the hall back to his room. He was startled to find several people in uniform occupying his common room. They all turned to look at him when he walked in.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes?” Any lingering sleepiness vanished and part of him was tempted to turn and run. Run back to the warmth he had just left, hide beneath that soft sea of blankets indefinitely.  
  
“We’ve been looking for you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily makes some calls.

Emily rolled over and discovered she had the whole bed to herself. She stretched, luxuriating in the space. She loved Hotch but dorm beds were not made for two, especially when one of the two was a giant. She considered staying in bed but her body demanded otherwise. Feeling much better than the previous afternoon, she discovered that her appetite, which had been absent for weeks, was back in full force. She decided she’d go bother Hotch until he agreed to get waffles with her. She pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt—she didn’t have to brush her hair if it was under a hood. A brief glance in the mirror assured her she didn’t look like she was dying and that was good enough for waffles. She went searching for Hotch.

She grinned at his roommates hanging out in the lounge chairs. If they didn’t exactly smile back, she wasn’t too concerned. They were never particularly friendly. She opened his door without knocking, something she knew he hated, but instead of being met with a grumpy scowl she found an empty room. She frowned, maybe he had gone to get breakfast without her. It would be unusual but not impossible. Or maybe he was getting her coffee. That thought made her smile. One of the best things she had done was teach him about all the many varieties of coffee drinks. Once he’d learned there were options, he was always bringing her different exotic lattes. He preferred to stick to the basics for his own caffeine but he enjoyed trying a little of hers and she didn’t mind sharing. 

Turning to head back to her room to call him, she was met with several uneasy looks. Everyone looked almost ashamed. That didn’t make any sense to her. They generally gave her tight smiles when they found her sprawled on one of their couches. To them, she was like a feral cat that sometimes got let into their home. They weren’t sure why Hotchner kept inviting her back when she so clearly did things that made him uncomfortable. But she always replaced the things she broke or ate so there wasn’t much to seriously complain about. She was just loud and off-putting. Everyone was a little afraid of her.

“What?” Their staring made her nervous. 

A few of them exchanged looks, no one wanted to speak up. Her nerves became fear. 

Finally someone answered, “Hotchner got arrested.”

“ _What_?” 

The blond guy from next door cleaned his throat, ready to repeat himself. Emily waved a hand, using the other to grip the doorframe. 

“When did this happen?” 

He shrugged, “Early this morning I guess. They came last night looking for him and when he wasn’t here they said they were just going to wait til he got back.”

Emily started unconsciously chewing on a nail, trying to think clearly. “Was it campus police?”

Someone else shook his head. “They were the real thing. Said he attacked some guy yesterday and left him to bleed out.”

Emily swore under her breath, trying to pull up an image of the aftermath of the fight. Her memory was unhelpfully clouded over by pain. Had it really been that serious? She could remember him laying on the ground, looking bad but definitely alive, no pools of blood or bones sticking out anywhere. Abruptly she walked away, not bothering to answer their unspoken questions about her involvement, their desire for detail they were sure she could provide. 

She desperately needed a plan. She didn’t trust him to act in his own best interest. She knew his stupid sense of honor would make him think he deserved to be punished even though he had been completely justified in her mind. She was sure anyone with all the facts would see that he was not the bad guy in this situation.

* 

Hotch sat in a cold metal chair, leaning his elbows on the table in front of him. They had put him in this interrogation room hours ago and then left him alone. He wondered at this strategy. Did they think he would get so lonely that he would spill his story to whoever came in and gave him a little attention? If so, they didn’t realize how long he could go without interaction, how he actually preferred the silence. No, leaving him alone wasn’t going to break him. Not in any amount of time they would consider reasonable. 

He wasn’t even sure why they thought it was necessary to get under his skin. He had come willingly enough. When they had asked if he had been involved in a fight with Kaden Willits he had admitted to it right away, almost laughing at the fact he was finally learning the man’s name. When they told him he was being brought in on assault and battery charges he didn’t resist but the lawyer’s son in him knew it was time to shut up. Those were serious charges and while he believed there should be consequences for his actions, he didn’t know that he wanted to give up everything for that asshole. Now he’d had hours to think and he wasn’t any clearer on what to do.

Eventually an officer came in to talk to him. He had the demeanor of a man who expected to get what he asked for. He pushed a legal pad toward Hotch and pulled a pen out of his pocket to offer to him. Hotch accepted the pen after staring at it for a moment too long but dropped his hands back to his lap. He knew what he wanted but he’d let the man think he was unclear. 

“Now you just write down everything that happened and we’ll make sure it gets sorted out. Fights happen, son. That’s just life. Sometimes we take things a little too far. Right now all we know is Mr. Willits’ side of the story. If you give us your version maybe there are some things that we’ve misunderstood.”

His tone was encouraging, like he was really just trying to look out for Hotch. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He knew what they would do with a written confession. He’d heard too many stories about defendants’ words coming back to haunt them, twisting the chains tighter around their wrists. No, he wouldn’t be writing anything down, nor speaking to this man or whoever else they sent in here. They knew what they knew and whatever that was would be enough to hurt him, he was sure. He continued to look down at his hands, as if he hadn’t heard. The man tapped the table sharply to rouse him. Hotch looked up, doing his best to appear non-combative. He knew he wasn’t going to like what came next, that this gentle handling he’d been getting was about to end. He very deliberately placed the pen on the legal pad and pushed it slowly back toward the cop. 

The officer stared at it, mouth hardening into a grim line. “So that’s how you want to play it?” 

Hotch shrugged. He wasn’t playing at anything. He just wasn’t a fool. 

“Well it won’t matter anyway,” the man snapped. “We’ve got plenty of eye witnesses and a doctor’s report. There’s no way for you to get out of this.” 

Hotch had gone back to staring at his hands. He didn’t want to get out of it, he just didn’t want to end up worse off than he needed to be. Plus, he had the disturbing thought of Emily being dragged into this if he started explaining himself. 

Frustrated with Hotch’s lack of response, the cop left, the door banging behind him. Hotch folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them. He wondered how much longer they were going to make him sit in here. He wondered if Emily has discovered he was gone yet. He hadn’t had time to leave her a message but he was sure the news would get to her somehow. He knew she wouldn’t like that and he’d have to figure out a good way to apologize. If he ever got the chance.

*

Back in her room, Emily was pacing. She had no clue how to sort this mess out. She had done plenty of questionable things in her time but never _actually_ gotten in trouble. Not real trouble. The image of Kaden on the ground flashed through her mind again. She hoped that he wasn’t actually dead, that her wishes from the night before had gone unanswered. When she had been thinking that she hadn’t been thinking about how it would come back on Hotch. She had to fix this. The whole thing was her fault. She needed someone older, someone more competent to tell her what to do. Really, she needed Hotch to tell her what to do. But he was out of reach, trapped somewhere unimaginable to her.

She pulled out her phone and stared at the screen. There was one other person she could call but she really, really didn’t want to. She scrolled through her contacts until she got to the Ts, selecting The Ambassador. She hadn’t talked to her mother in months probably. Aside from an occasional email checking in, she never got the sense her mother was particularly interested in what she was doing. Ms. Elizabeth Prentiss was definitely of the belief that no news was good news and Emily didn’t like to contradict that if she didn’t have to.

The phone rang twice before she heard her mother’s voice, crisp and businesslike. “Emily?”

“Hi mom.” She immediately regretted the decision. Something in Elizabeth’s tone set her teeth on edge. 

“What do you need Emily?” She sounded impatient, like she already had somewhere else to be despite the fact that it was Saturday morning.

Emily didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t sure what she needed. She needed someone to undo this. “I…I need some advice.”

This surprised Elizabeth a little, enough to slow her normally brisk way of dealing with things, to actually hear the emotion in Emily’s voice. She didn’t think she could remember her daughter ever calling her for advice before.

“My friend, he’s in trouble. They took him and I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where he is really.”

“Wait, who are you talking about? Who got taken?” Barely able to make out Emily’s rushed speech, Elizabeth was growing alarmed.

“My friend. Hotch. Aaron. My friend, I told you about him.” Emily couldn’t help the whine slipping into her voice. She had definitely told her mother about Hotch, maybe not in a lot of detail but she didn’t exactly have a ton of friends to talk about. Her mother could at least try to remember the one she did bring up.

On her end of the line, Elizabeth frowned, unable to conjure any details about this supposed friend of Emily’s. She knew there was a roommate, a blonde girl—Jessica? Joanna? She shook her head, it didn’t matter. “Who took him?”

“The police! They came to our dorm and they took him and I don’t know what’s happening to him and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why on earth would the police take a student?”

Emily hesitated. “Well, there was a fight…”

“Emily,” her mother said, disapproving, “if the boy was foolish enough to get in a fight, you shouldn’t get involved in that kind of thing.”

“But—“ Emily trailed off, not sure how to explain that it was her fault without going into details she hoped never to reveal. “I need to help him. He’s my friend.”

Her mother sighed. Her daughter had always cared too much for strays. She rubbed her forehead with a well-manicured hand. “Do his parents know?”

Emily wasn’t expecting that, hadn’t even considered Hotch’s parents. So often it seemed that he had just been brought into the world fully grown, it was easy to forget he had any. He never offered information about his family and became cagey whenever pressed for details. She didn’t think he would appreciate her calling them. 

Taking her daughter’s silence as a negative, Elizabeth continued practically, “Well you can try informing them. They will probably want to get him a lawyer if it’s anything serious.”

That caused a lightbulb to blink on. She remembered Hotch saying his dad was a lawyer. That could be helpful. Regardless of what people felt about their family, they were always willing to help when major problems came up. That’s what family was right? People you did your best to tolerate so when the shit really hit the fan there were at least a couple people to turn to. 

“I’ll try that,” she said. “Thank you mom!” She hung up quickly, not waiting for her mother to say anything else, eager to take action.

Elizabeth looked at her disconnected phone for a moment, soaking in the appreciation. It was so rare that she and Emily got along, let alone heard her express any kind of gratitude.

*

Eventually someone came to move Hotch out of the interrogation room. As the deputy placed unnecessary cuffs around his wrists, he asked if Hotch wanted his phone call now. He shook his head. He didn’t know who he would call. Emily maybe but he wasn’t ready to have that conversation. Better to wait and see how this developed. He stayed silent as he was escorted to a holding cell. Before the guard walked away Hotch caved and asked the most pressing question on his mind. He was afraid he already knew the answer.

“When can I go home?”

The guard looked at him for a few seconds, considering. This guy had supposedly done some damage. He hadn’t personally seen the victim but another officer had reported the guy’s face was like a child’s finger-painting done in purples and blues. That kind of damage didn’t happen without a lot of rage. But here he seemed young, not completely aware of the depth of trouble he was in. He didn’t feel any kindness towards Hotch, lord knew these college kids all thought themselves untouchable by the rules the rest of society followed. At the same time, he felt a little bit sorry for him. 

“The judge will be in Monday.” 

Without allowing for a follow up question he walked away, leaving Hotch to consider his position. He sank down onto a bench, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to dislodge the growing headache. Monday. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant wait but maybe he could come up with a plan by then. He leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes against the fluorescent lights. 

*

Emily stared at her phone after hanging up. For a second it had felt like she knew what to do: call Hotch’s parents, get the grown ups to deal with this. But doubt had already started to creep into her mind. She thought again of the way Hotch always got uncomfortable when the topic of family came up, the way he vaguely hinted at an unpleasant childhood. _It probably wasn’t always like that_ , she argued with herself. They must care about him, at least enough to not want him in prison. People changed and (probably) improved with age. Look at her mother and her—they still couldn’t stand each other but they didn’t scream anymore. 

She wavered. Maybe she should try to talk to Hotch first. She bit her lip and searched for who to call when someone got arrested. She dialed the number for central booking. The man on the other end informed her that Hotch was being held on serious charges and wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone or see anyone but a lawyer before his arraignment. She wanted to argue, to plead her case to this unknown, inconsequential civil servant but he hung up on her before she could finish forming a sentence.

She chewed her finger. She had done all she could think of on her own. The only thing that remained was Hotch’s family. She tried to tell herself she was doing him a favor, that this was probably what he wanted anyway. Quickly she changed her search to law firms with the name Hotchner located in the Charlottesville area. There couldn’t be that many lawyers with that ridiculous last name. Quickly enough she found a number for local defense attorney Victor Hotchner. 

The call was answered by a receptionist who promptly informed her Mr. Hotchner was out of the office. Worried she would hang up, Emily hurriedly added, “Please, it’s about his son.” 

The receptionist lost her professional demeanor and started asking questions. “Oh no, what’s happened to Sean? Is he okay?” 

Confused for a moment, Emily said, “No, it’s Hotch, I mean, Aaron.” 

The receptionist hesitated, not sure what to do with that information. 

“Please,” Emily repeated. She relented and gave Emily the Hotchner’s home number. 

After Emily thanked her, she added, almost guiltily, “He’s not well, Mr. Hotchner. I’m not sure if he’ll be able to help.” 

Puzzled, Emily accepted the warning. None of that conversation had gone how she expected. Before she could think too hard about it she dialed the new number. 

“Hotchner household,” a gruff voice answered the phone.

She felt shy, a practically foreign emotion for her. “Um, hi. Mr. Hotchner. My name is Emily, uh, Emily Prentiss.”

“What do you want?” 

“Well, I go to school with your son,” she paused, not sure how to continue.

He remained silent, not offering any assistance. 

“He’s in trouble.”

“So? That’s not my concern.” He started to cough.

The harshness of his response surprised her. Maybe she hadn’t explained it right. “He…he got arrested this morning and I don’t know what’s happening to him. They said he is going to be there until he can see a judge Monday.” The words tumbled out of her, as if she can convince him to care. 

“My son,” he said stiffly, throat still hoarse, “is a fool. He is an adult now and whatever problems he creates are his own to deal with.”

“Please!” she knew she sounded desperate but this was her last move. She didn’t know what else she could do if he wouldn’t help. “It was my fault. He shouldn’t even be in trouble. It was all my fault, I swear.”

He was silent on the other end, considering her words. “What is the charge?”

*

Monday morning and Hotch was meeting with his court appointed attorney. She looked young and nervous and he wanted to make her more comfortable but he really didn’t know how. Personally, he felt like he was about to throw up. She was reviewing the case information and shaking her head. 

“There were… _how many_ witnesses?” 

Hotch shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he mumbled. He knew it was going to be bad but each moment seemed to pull him further and further into a pit. He was beginning to think he had no hope of walking out of here. Not for many, many years.

The door slammed open behind them. His attorney flinched but to her credit, she stood up and looked sternly at the intruder. “I am meeting with my client.”

“He’s not your client anymore, I will be representing him. You may leave.” 

She faltered, looked back at Hotch, “I didn’t realize…”

“Leave. Now.” 

Hotch didn’t have to look to know who was standing behind him. Every muscle in his body tensed, a conditioned response to that familiar tone. He closed his eyes, trying to understand how he got here. 

“Look at me.”  
  
He opened his eyes to see the court attorney gone, replaced by the thin, gray face of his father. His skin was both too tight and too loose, settled uncomfortably across his bones. He had once been a large man; strong and commanding were words commonly used by people who met him. Only his family who saw his true nature knew that there were better adjectives: cruel, unforgiving, merciless. He had lost so much weight now he could almost be someone else entirely. His eyes remained the same—identical to Hotch’s, dark and piercing, sunk deep beneath his brow. He didn’t look pleased.

“Sit up.”

Hotch straightened automatically, electric fear making his hands shake. He knew nothing would happen here. Even with client attorney privilege insuring privacy, there were cameras everywhere, someone always just around the corner. No, he was safe in this moment, but he could already feel the moment passing, safety dwindling to threads he couldn’t possibly grasp. He wished he was older, smarter, more capable. Familiar pleas to the cosmos that never seemed to be answered. Even here, a hundred miles from that house, after everything he had done to get away, he found himself back in his father’s hands, completely dependent on him. Whatever happened to him had never been in his control, he should have known better.

*  
  
It was his turn to go before the judge. He still hadn’t spoken much, simply nodding his understanding of his father’s patronizing directions. The two of them stood side by side behind the defendant’s table. His father, impeccably dressed as always, in a suit that maybe didn’t fit as well as it once had. He was still wearing the clothes he had put on Friday morning, before he could have imagined any of this happening. He was acutely aware of how wrinkled, how disheveled he appeared despite his self-conscious efforts to smooth his hair, to tuck in his shirt.

“How does the defendant plead?” The judge was already bored, not even 10 am on Monday morning. He had been doing this for longer than many of the defendants had been alive. Mostly he spent his days considering where he would go first in his retirement. He had heard wonderful things about Bali.

“Not guilty, your honor.”

If Hotch was surprised he knew better than to show it. He kept his eyes carefully trained on a discolored spot on the carpet in front of the judge’s bench.

“And how much is the prosecution asking for bail?” The judge was trying to focus but honestly he’d done this so many times he could probably be asleep.

“$10,000, your honor. This man caused serious harm to the victim and fled the scene of the crime.” The prosecutor was trying to hide her excitement at the prospect of this easy win. Everything was already laid out, all she really needed to do was follow through the motions and she would have a significant case to add to her resume.

“Please, your honor, if I may,” Mr. Hotchner’s voice was smooth and practiced. If the judge had been presiding over his court for multiple decades, he had been practicing law at least as long. This lower courtroom was unprepared for his skill. “This young man is a student at the university, he has never had any marks on his record there. I have evidence that he was acting in defense of another young woman. He is no risk to the community and he should be released on his own recognizance.”

The judge looked at him more closely. He liked the serious set of Mr. Hotchner’s face, the intensity he showed. He didn’t often see lawyers like this anymore. It was all hotheaded aggression and angling for a better position now. This man clearly had a respect for the tradition, the beauty of the court. The judge appreciated that, he could trust a man like that. Plus he found the new ADA a little grating and didn’t want her getting the impression he was going to favor her.

“Alright, Mr. Hotchner. Today’s your lucky day. You are released without bail. Make sure you thank your lawyer and come to your hearing on time or you will regret it.” If he noticed the defendant and his attorney shared a last name, he didn’t say anything. Mr. Hotchner smiled thinly and directed Hotch with a pinch to the back of his arm to smile and thank the judge in turn. They were quickly ushered out for the next defendant to approach.

  
*  
Emily was waiting outside the courthouse. She hadn’t been sure what time Hotch’s arraignment was at so she got there when the court opened. She was still clutching her half empty cup of coffee when she saw them coming out. She was startled by how much they looked alike. Even though his dad seemed aged by more than time, there was too much shared to feel comfortable. Their hair is dark and straight, too thick to lay flat on its own. They had heavy brows, both drawn down right now, creating a comedically doubled effect. Even their gait is matched, long legs stepping a little too far, eager to get through the open space of the courtyard. She set her cup down, about to approach when Hotch looked toward her. His eyes went wide with alarm and he shook his head slightly. He silently begged her not to interrupt, not to step in front of this avalanche she’d put in motion. She had been so happy to see him looking relatively unharmed after days of nail-biting absence. She thought she had done the right thing. Surely him walking out of there proved she’d done the right thing? As she watched them walk away, she found herself very unsure.

*

They walked to Mr. Hotchner’s car. Without a word, Hotch opened the passenger door and slid in as his dad walked around the front of the car. He was turning to buckle his seatbelt when a blow caught his cheek and rocked his head back. He let his forehead rest on the cool glass of the window, the backs of his eyelids dancing with tiny stars. The stars burned blue and white before fading into static. He opened his eyes to look at his father. He’d said something and Hotch tried to pull the sounds back into his ears, hoping to capture their meaning. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It probably wasn’t the right response but it was better than nothing.

“You are such a disappointment.” He grabbed Hotch’s collar, pulling him upright. He made no move to resist. Maybe this was what he’d been waiting for all along. He didn’t like it but there was comfort in the familiar pattern—he got in trouble and his father corrected him. It didn’t matter that he never seemed to learn, the lesson always stayed the same. His father shook him sharply and he tried to focus, to pay attention to this moment and not its many reflections in his memory. His father was breathing heavily with the effort. Without warning, he let go and started coughing. It was a deep and uneasy sound, pulling from the bottom of his lungs. Hotch watched for a moment as the man struggled to regain composure. When the coughing fit seemed to worsen rather than subside Hotch became concerned. 

“Dad?”

Mr. Hotchner was bent over now, trying to calm the spasming in his chest. He pointed at the backseat and it took several tries for him to rasp out the word “water.” Hotch dove halfway into the back, digging around for a water bottle. He found it rolled under the seat and managed to draw it out, uncapping it with some trouble, his fingers clumsy with rising panic. He passed it to his father who took small sips, finally, slowly suppressing the harsh cough. 

Hotch, leaning back against the door, unconsciously making himself smaller, watched him carefully. He’d known his father was sick but things had declined significantly since he had last been home some months ago. He wondered if his father should even be traveling, let alone why he would bother coming to help him. He wouldn’t have expected him to come even if he had called, yet here he was, frail and angry

“Are you ok?” he asked quietly, the irony that this concern had never been extended to him by this man not lost on him.

His father scowled at him, a look so similar to the one Hotch made all the time Emily would have laughed if she could see it. “Of course not. I’m dying, you idiot.”

Hotch blinked. He knew that on some level but, like most things with his family, it was not something spoken about out loud. Awkward and unsure what to say he looked out the window as his father turned the car on and backed out of the parking space. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plots and schemes.

Emily found him laying on top of his bed, staring at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. He had showered as soon as he made it back into his dorm, turning the water as hot as it would go, attempting to burn away every part of the last few days. As he turned his face into the spray the water stung his cheek, split from his father's ring. He closed his eyes tightly and refused to cry. It was really a small price to pay to be back out in the world. 

He dressed in sweats, thinking he was going to fall asleep from exhaustion, only to find himself studying the ceiling tiles. He had been trying to count the little holes and finding them frustratingly uneven. It was making him angry, an emotion he hadn’t felt since he took out all his rage in an unfair fight. During the endless thinking time of the last few days, he had concluded that the fight was, in fact, unfair. Kaden might have been a monster but he wasn’t really any better. Kaden had taken advantage of Emily because she was smaller, weaker and Hotch had done the same in turn. It was what his father did. The thought made his muscles tense and he jumped when Emily put a hand on his arm. 

“Woah, sorry!” she said backing up, hands held in front of her.

He watched her from his new position, back pressed against the wall, knees pulled into his chest. She ran into the bed behind her and sat down, dropping her hands to twist nervously in her lap. His shoulders relaxed, though his face was still white.

“I knocked,” she said. “Sort of.” She picked at a thread in the fabric of the bedspread. “I definitely said your name.”

“It’s ok,” he finally found his voice. It was still rough after days of mostly silence.

She tilted her head and squinted. “What happened to your face?”

He covered the cut with his hand, as if that would somehow make the mark disappear. “I was in a fight, you may remember,” he muttered sullenly.

Emily was skeptical but she let it slide. She needed information. He was reluctant to go into detail but told her things were serious. 

“But they let you out,” Emily protested. 

Hotch sighed. “They’re still pressing charges. I’m just out until my hearing. Which probably won’t go well. There’s a lot of evidence against me.”

“That’s stupid.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I messed up, Em. These are the consequences. It’s no more than what I deserve.”

She decided not to argue this point again. She could only repeat herself to a brick wall so many times before she started to question her own sanity. There had to be some way out of this. She refused to believe that out of the three people involved in this situation, Hotch was the one getting in trouble. At least let it be her. She had been the one who started this unfortunate cascade of dominos. 

“Can’t your dad help? Isn’t he like some important lawyer?”

Hotch looked upset again, avoiding her eyes, but then shrugged, “Probably.”

She raised her eyebrows, wanting more details. He ignored her. 

“He said it would be easy.”

Hotch looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Emily faltered. “When I called him, he said it would be easy to get you off because the other guy sounded like a moron.”

“When you what?”

It was her turn to avoid his eyes. She thought maybe his dad would have filled Hotch in on the details of how he’d known to be there. Apparently not.

“Emily. You called my father? To tell him I was in jail? For assaulting someone?” He began to sound hysterical.

She nodded, concerned by his reaction. “I didn’t know what else to do. Are you mad?”

He covered his face with both hands. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t put that together. It would have been ridiculous to think his parents might have found out about his situation on their own. He just thought maybe the school had contacted them. No, he was not happy about being put in this position with his father but he wouldn’t let himself be mad at Emily. She didn’t know what this meant; how asking for a favor was unthinkable even before he found out his father was dying. 

“Look,” he sighed, “just stay away from my dad. He’s not…he’s not a nice person.”

She frowned, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no it’s just—” he struggled to find the right words. “It’s going to be okay.”

Neither of them seemed convinced. He almost wanted to ask her to leave. There were far too many emotions tangled inside him and he worried he might say something he regretted. While he debated with himself, she cautiously moved over to sit next to him, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning against his shoulder. The pressure was comforting and he decided against sending her away. She slipped her hand into his and he closed his eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeated and it sounded a little better this time.

*

In the morning he met with father again. He took him to a coffee cart on campus. Public, he’d learned, was always better. Immediately Hotch noticed little things about his dad’s appearance he had overlooked the day before. How red his eyes were, the tiny blood vessels burst from too much coughing. The way his skull seemed unnaturally large for his body, even with the padding of a suit, something was visibly off. His father filled him in on his talks with the school. How he had convinced the disciplinary board to wait on results of the legal proceedings, the consequences to his school standing to be determined based on the outcome of that investigation. He barely paid attention, so mesmerized by the surreal feeling of sitting on a bench drinking coffee with his father. 

Other than at the dinner table, which held its own dangers, he didn’t think there was ever a time he was sitting down with the man. He could remember being the one sitting, being towered over as he struggled to do his homework, numbers and letters swimming hopelessly on the page. He would try so hard not to cry because that always made it worse, the tears warping the shapes even more. He could also remember being the one standing. Shivering on the porch, banished for some long forgotten transgression, watching through the window as the rest of his family gathered in the living room. They always looked so perfect through the window, he could never blame them for the way he was treated. He brought it on himself and didn’t deserve to be a part of anything warm and good.

“Luckily, it appears that the person you attacked is an even bigger idiot than you.” 

This new statement brought him out of his memories. He ignored the insult and tried to remain patient as he waited for his father to share whatever information he’d uncovered. 

“It seems that Kaden Willits has two DUIs on his record already, not even twenty-one yet. He is currently on probation. I think that if we can press him in the right way, he will crawl back into his hole.” His father looked altogether too satisfied with himself. 

Hotch felt the back of his neck start to itch. He rubbed it. “How are we going to do that?”

“Stop fidgeting. I think it’s perfectly obvious. We’ll send that friend of yours with a message. He can drop the charges or he will find himself facing some unpleasant realities.”

Hotch tightened his grip on his coffee cup, risking crushing it entirely. “I don’t want to involve her.”

“It doesn’t really matter what you want, does it?”

Hotch hung his head. Of course it didn’t, but he couldn’t let Emily be dragged into this. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father’s hand move and flinched, hating how quickly he had fallen back into this role. But his father was only pulling a notepad and pen out of his jacket. 

“Write her number down, I will call her later,” he sounded businesslike and cold.

Hotch didn’t move. He weighed his options. He could refuse. His father could probably find another way. It wouldn’t be good for him, he was sure, but if it kept Emily far away from his dad it would be worth it. 

The notepad was pushed right under his nose. “Do it. Now.” There was a familiar warning edge to the words. Numerous unspecified threats threaded into a few syllables. _Don’t make a scene, or else._

But Hotch wasn’t willing to give this one up. What, really, could the man do to him that he hadn’t already? He stood up, straightening the cuffs of his sweater, the coffee forgotten on the bench. He met his father’s astonished look as steadily as he could. “No.”

His father got up quickly, placing a hand on the back of the bench to offset the dizziness of the sudden movement. “ _What_ did you—“

“Find a different way.” He turned away, the fear was beginning to escape and he needed to leave before he lost his resolve. A hand gripped his forearm tightly. He turned back, looking slowly from the hand restraining him into his father’s face. He was so furious, Hotch wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t just strike him there in the middle of campus. He almost gave in, like he had hundreds of times before. _Maybe I can try, maybe it will be different this time._ Then he thought of Emily, disoriented at his door in the middle of the night, how he turned her away, how he failed her then and how he couldn't let it happen again. With a final surge of courage, he pulled his arm free and walked away. 

*

He had made her promise to stay out of it, to leave this to him. In turn, he promised to cooperate with his dad, to do what he could to get out of this since (she insisted) he didn’t deserve it. She meant to stick to her promise. But she also couldn’t resist the urge to learn more about Hotch and his dad. The little glimpses weren’t enough and Emily’s curiosity got the better of her. 

When he informed her he was meeting his dad that morning, that she should go to breakfast without him, she accepted without argument. She couldn’t help that he was leaving the building just in front of her, nor that he was too focused to notice her following a little ways behind. Her curiosity only grew as she watched them greet each other frostily. She didn’t like the way Hotch seemed to shrink into himself, barely looking up from the ground as they walked. 

When they stopped, she stopped, finding a ledge to sit on where she would be out of Hotch’s line of sight. She was jealous of the coffee they bought and shifted a little, considering if she could make it through the ordering process at the cart without Hotch noticing. She watched them talk, or mostly it seemed like his dad spoke and he listened. She wished she could hear but she knew how unhappy Hotch would be to discover her lurking. 

So she waited, studying how so many of Hotch’s mannerisms were mirrored in his father. Or, rather, it was the other way around. She was deep into her meditation on this phenomenon when Hotch suddenly stood up. She scrambled up too, looking for somewhere to hide, afraid he would catch her spying. There was a building behind her and she ran up the steps to dip into the shadows of the doorway. She got there just in time to watch Hotch walk away as his father looked on. Neither one looked pleased and she wanted to know what she had missed. They were supposed to be discussing strategies and this did not look like a good sign. 

She waited for Hotch to get a little farther away, far enough that he wasn’t likely to double back. Then she did something she knew she shouldn’t. She just couldn’t help it. She approached his father, now sitting heavily on the bench again, pinching the bridge of his nose like Hotch did when he had a headache or he was deeply irritated. She shook off the eerie feeling of familiarity. 

“Excuse me?” she tried not to sound too tentative.

“What?” he snapped at her.

“Hi, I’m Emily.” She held out her hand awkwardly, trying to seem braver than she felt. When he didn’t react she added, “I called you. About Aaron.” She barely remembered to use his given name. 

He smiled at her and it was frightening. She could imagine Hotch in twenty years, if life took away all his laughter and kindness, this was what he would look like. She was still too young to think about the future in anything but abstracts but she prayed that wouldn’t be the way things turned out. 

“I was hoping to speak to you, Ms.—“ he paused, clearly expecting her to provide this forgotten detail.

“Prentiss.” She was distracted by the coldness of his hand as he shook hers. She inspected it to make sure it was really skin she touched.

“Yes, of course. Well, I was going to call you later but since you are here now,” he gestured that she should sit down in the unoccupied space. She was wary of him but accepted. She was interested to find out why he wanted to talk to her and badly wanted to help if she could. 

He frowned as he looks her over, clearly unimpressed with her casual appearance. All exposed knees and elbows, bitten fingernails and a messy bun. He was not surprised this was a person who would get his son into trouble, nor was he surprised at his son’s poor taste. It was too late to undo that now, but he believed he could make use of her. Her weaknesses were obvious and he had no hesitations about manipulating them to get what he wanted. 

“You got my son arrested,” his tone was not outwardly hostile but her throat closed at the accusation. She shook her head.

“No? Isn’t that what you told me? That this is your fault?” The questions almost sounded friendly.

“No!” she said hastily. “I mean it is my fault, kind of. He was just looking out for me and things got…carried away.” That was the most generous description of what happened that she could think of.

“Why would he need to attack someone to ‘look out’ for you?”

She swallowed, feeling as if she had stepped into a trap. She had been as vague as she could on the phone, only giving the most general details of how Hotch had ended up knocking someone out. Mr. Hotchner stared at her, his patience edged with a clear expectation that his questions were answered. 

“Well, the other guy, Kaden, he did something. To me. He hurt me.”

“This is when Aaron attacked him?”

She shook her head again. “No, it was awhile ago.”

“That is not protection, that is revenge. I’m not sure I will be able to argue he was defending you if it wasn’t an immediate threat.” He allowed himself to sound a little worried and was pleased to see her start to chew on a fingernail. The habit disgusted him but it was such an easy indication of how a person was feeling. He wanted her feeling guilty, vulnerable to the request he planned to make. 

“But it was really bad. The thing that he did.” She didn’t want to say it, hoped he wouldn’t make her spell it out. 

“How bad can it be? You seem fine. My son is fine. The only person actually hurt here is Mr. Willits.” He watched her crumble. 

“He’s the guilty one, he’s the one who should be in jail,” she insisted. She couldn’t understand why she was having to convince Hotch’s father. Surely he knew his own son would never hurt someone else without a good reason. 

“What is he guilty of? You’re going to need to be more specific if you want to help Aaron out of this.”

She leaned forward and gripped the edge of the bench with both hands, digging her nails into the weathered slats. She did want to help, she’d do anything to help. She gritted her teeth. “He raped me.”

“And you have proof?”

She looked up at him, startled. He looked back at her evenly.

“Generally, you need proof to successfully back up a claim like that. Eyewitnesses, medical records, police reports.” He sounded almost bored but inside he was enjoying twisting the knife. He knew there wasn’t any proof. What a stupid girl. He was somehow even more disappointed in his son now. 

“No,” she whispered. “There’s nothing like that.”

He frowned sternly, seeming to review the facts. “This does not look good for Aaron I’m afraid. Even if you were to testify that Mr. Willits attacked you—where did this happen?”

“At a party,” she sounded miserable. 

He raised his eyebrows and continued, “That he attacked you at a party, awhile ago. I don’t know that would even help at all.”

“Please! There has to be something you could do?” She was still hopeful that this man, unkind as he was turning out to be, would be able to fix this. 

He shook his head sadly, “No, I’m not sure there is.” He paused, watching her shoulders slump, her foot swinging beneath her like an unmannered child. “Unless…”

She looked at him again, eyes bright. He had her exactly where he wanted her.

“Well, if Mr. Willits were to drop the charges, it is unlikely the case would continue. Prosecutors don’t usually waste their time on college fights.”

“Why would he do that?” she asked, puzzled.

“While you do not have any proof to back up your allegations, the man is no saint. I believe if you were to go remind him of his precarious position he would fold rather quickly.”

His words stung but she grabbed onto the little bit of hope he dangled. “What if he doesn’t listen to me?”

“I have something prepared for that scenario as well. When you go speak with him, you’ll need to take this with you,” he pulled two vials of clear liquid out of his pocket. “You’ll need to find somewhere discreet to place them before you leave.”

She stared at the vials, unable to process what he was asking her to do. He pressed them into her hand. She automatically closed her fingers around them, the glass warming in her palm. 

“What…what is it?” 

“I wonder you don’t recognize it. It’s GHB. Maybe you should study it for your future reference.” He was no longer pretending to be friendly. He knew she would do this, really he’d known since he’d heard the panic in her voice when he first threatened to hang up on her. Now he had put the plan in motion, all he had to do was wait.

Emily felt hollow, knowing she has been tricked somehow and knowing she couldn’t back out. She wanted to get away from this evil pretending to be a father but she couldn’t move. All she could do was stare at her closed fist, feeling as if its contents are burning far hotter than the heat they derived from her body.

Mr. Hotchner stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “Good day, Ms. Prentiss. Make sure you take care of that soon, there’s no time to waste.” He walked away, congratulating himself.

*

She was nervous. More than nervous, she was terrified. She considered having a drink. Nothing excessive, just enough so that her hands stopped shaking, enough that she could see through the buzzing around her eyes. She wrapped her hand around the two damning objects in her pocket. She had kept them in there since Mr. Hotchner gave them to her. Too afraid to let them out of her sight but looking at them doesn’t make her feel any better. She feared she would break them. 

She studied herself in the mirror, searching for strength. It was now or never. She had been avoiding Hotch since she got back to the dorm and he was going to notice soon. She didn’t think she could hide the fact that she’d spoken with his dad and she knew he wouldn’t let her do what she needed to do. He wouldn’t understand that she didn’t have a choice. If there were other ways out of this, she’d missed them all and now this was the only path. She could do it. She could be strong. 

Fuck it, she dug around in her desk drawer until she came up with a tiny bottle of bourbon, the kind passed out on airplanes. She drank it quickly, ignoring the burn in favor of the sweet weight that settled around her shoulders, smothering the buzzing of her nerves. Not giving herself time to think, she headed out, running down the stairs rather than pause to wait for the elevator. She found that once she had some momentum, it was easier to ignore all the doubts, to see only the clarity of the plan. 

As she got closer, the fear tried to creep back, slowing her steps. She clenched her fists and pushed forward. There were people hanging around the front, not quite a party though they were trending towards one. Only a couple more beers and they could very easily be persuaded into transitioning to something louder, rowdier. She didn’t see him among these porch dwellers and they barely noticed as she slipped in the front door. 

Inside was more of the same, though the place was cleaner than the other times she’d been here. Apparently someone did clear out the empty cups and cans at some point between evenings. He was also not in here, a fact that was simultaneously helpful and worrying. She’d need to get to his room to plant the drugs but that was absolutely the last place she wanted to be, alone, with him. She climbed the stairs of the courtyard, repeating to herself the lines she’d come up with. Though the doors were identical, she remembered exactly which one was his. It was partially open. Perhaps he wasn’t even home, maybe she could just do what she needed to and leave. Forget the threats and skip to getting him in trouble. No such luck. She could see his back from the doorway, sitting at his desk, bent over some work. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open all the way. He turned when he heard her, his face ugly and swollen. 

“What the hell do you want?”

She couldn’t speak, all the fear and the shock overtaking her. 

He laughed sourly. “You like?” He waved at the black and purple bruising as he swiveled his chair to face her straight on. “Your friend is going to fucking regret it when he finds out how popular he is in prison.”

The mention of Hotch was all she needed to spark her to action. “Listen, asshole,” she spoke louder than she meant to, rage ignited and curling upwards through her chest. “You are going to drop the charges and leave us the fuck alone.”

He was too shocked to react for a second then he really started laughing. So much so that he was out of breath. She stomped her foot, which she knew was petulant but she wanted his attention, wanted him to hear exactly what she had to say. 

“You’re insane,” he said.

“I’m not. You will, or else.”

Suddenly he was up, standing close to her. “Or else what?” His voice was low, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck. Then, just as quickly, he was bent over, gasping for breath. She had punched him with all her weight, just below the sternum.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she hissed.

He looked up at her from his half standing position, somehow still smirking. She wanted to rip his face off. 

“Ok, I’ll play. What’s the ‘or else’?” he said once he caught his breath.

“You are on probation,” she said calmly, walking further into the room, taking advantage of the space created when she’d hit him. She kept herself between him and the door.

“Yes?” He was suspicious, this was not common information. His parents had paid a lot of money to make that trouble go away, though after the second DUI they couldn’t quite pay to get rid of it entirely. 

“If you don’t drop the charges, your probation officer is going to hear some stories about what you’ve been up to recently.” She spoke slowly as she ran her fingers across the desktop.

Fully recovered now, he snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “What, you think they care what slutty college girls have to say?”

She stopped her idle tour of his room and looked at him. She shrugged a shoulder. “They might.”

He shook his head. “No one is going to believe you. No one.”

“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t.” She turned to walk back to the door, hands in her pockets. “But, you want to know what I know?”

“Please, I’m dying to hear it.” He was sarcastic but, though he would never admit it, this had him a little worried. Her calm was unnerving, the shift in power inexplicable but impossible to ignore.

She stopped at the doorway, her glare a knife that carved straight through him, “If you did it to me, you’ve done it to others. Once people start asking questions, it’s only a matter of time before they find something on you. You’re not as smart as you think you are.”

She forced herself not to run down the stairs, not to look like she was fleeing the scene of a crime. The adrenaline spiked in her chest as she walked out the front door. She couldn’t stop from smiling, a ferocious expression that would have caused anyone who saw it to be concerned.  
  
*

On Thursday Emily dragged Hotch outside. She told him he’d been scowling at the wall so much the paint was going to start peeling. That there was no point in sitting inside worrying. That he should just trust his dad to take care of it. The look he gave her when she said that would have stripped an entire house-worth of paint. She pointedly ignored it and pulled his hand until he reluctantly got out of bed and put on his shoes. She chattered to him about what she wanted to eat. He wasn’t really listening, assuming she would lead them wherever it was she wanted to go. He felt his phone ringing and pulled it out. He froze when he saw his father’s name flashing. They hadn’t talked since he rejected the man’s horrible plan. He almost convinced himself that his dad had changed his mind about helping and left him to fend for himself. Emily, who hadn't noticed that he stopped at first, looked behind her and saw his distressed expression.  
  
“Who is it?”

“My father,” he replied dully. He didn’t know if he should answer. It might be safer to let him take it out on his voicemail, to listen to whatever horrible things he had to say with a buffer.

“Maybe he’s heard something?” she said encouragingly.

He made a noise of half-hearted agreement and pressed his lips together before answering.

“They’ve dropped the charges,” his father didn’t even wait for a greeting.

“Oh,” Hotch wasn’t sure he could believe it. “How did you…” he trailed off, not sure he actually wanted the answer to that question.

“You are welcome,” he said, dismissing the partial question.

Hotch stumbled to thank him, apologizing at the same time. He didn’t know how to feel, what to say.

“Never, ever call me for something like this again,” he continued severely. Hotch started to promise that he wouldn’t before he got cut off. “I will disown you rather than be involved in your delinquency.” 

Hotch was silent. 

“Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead without any further exchange. He looked at Emily who was watching him closely. The show of breezy unconcern she had been putting on earlier dropped completely. Her dark eyes were intense and questioning.

“They dropped the charges?” It came out as a question, he was still so surprised.

She shrieked as she rushed at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. He barely registered it through the shock. They stood there, blocking the path, letting the news sink in. He slowly allowed himself to believe what he’d just been told: that things were going to be ok, things can be good again. She peeled away from him, talking about celebrating and towing him along by the hand. As they passed a trashcan she pulled something from her pocket and tossed it in without breaking their stride. She squeezed his hand and he looked down at her, a big dumb smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and I would loooove to hear any thoughts :)


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